Hey You
by roseeyes
Summary: Kurama had a plan for every eventuality. He'd helped save the world, joining human and demon kind for the first time in centuries. So how did these feelings of loneliness sneak in? Azumi, a compassionate human stunt double, finds herself drawn into Kurama's orbit. She thinks she can handle demons but can she handle his?
1. Prologue: The Flowers Cry

Prologue: The Flowers Cried

_Hey you, out there in the cold_

_Getting lonely, getting old,_

_Can you feel me?_

Dead.

"I'm sorry, can you explain that one more time?"

Dried wax scraped skin as I petted the artificial leaves, swallowing the sigh bubbling in my throat. An age-old habit, one I regretted immediately when the plant refused my call. But then, how could I expect an answer?

It was dead.

"Sir?"

Cool air crept through the overhead vents, an unwelcome guest after the chilly commute. Even now, dark clouds promised snow, naked bodies plastered to the window. The air conditioning hummed silently, raising goose flesh beneath my suit jacket and chinos. A stray hair languished against the false flower, weaving through petal after petal: the red thread of fate, drowning in a frosted sea. A long-standing firm policy, a foolish bid to help the environment–

It made me sick.

"Mr. Minamino!"

I started, turning from the glistening lily. The client – a woman in her mid-thirties – stared back with wide eyes, brows knit. A navy cardigan clung to her shoulders, nearly concealing the pale blouse beneath. Black pumps shifting ever so slightly atop the carpet, she fidgeted in her seat, hands smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt. A young mother, seeking a loan on her husband's behalf–

Awaiting me to do my job.

A low cough and I straightened my tie, returning to the poorly-cushioned chair. "My apologies. Where were we?"

_Hey you, standing in the aisles_

_With itchy feet and fading smiles,_

_Can you feel me?_

It was a beautiful wedding.

Master Genkai's grounds rang with laughter and general good cheer as the guests assembled, mindful of various colorful arrangements and paper lanterns hanging overhead. Demon and human sat side-by-side in painted chairs, alternating blue and gold as was the bride's choice. Each clamored to see the happy couple, even though they knew they would have to wait.

The master of the grounds awaited us in a room on the opposite side of the temple, white robes blending with her graying hair. Though she tried to hide her mirth, a stray spark betrayed her happiness–

Her pride for her idiot apprentice.

A soft breeze carried the sound of merry-making and we began our trek. Mr. and Mrs. Yukimura entered the shrine on silent feet, the lady's kimono catching on stray wisps of wind. Bright cherry blossoms shone against the black fabric of her robes, highlighted all the more by the pale skin of her neck. Mr. Yukimura's lips appeared ready to spring from his face, so big was his smile, his happiness for his only child.

Then there was the groom's mother.

Atsuko leaned against Kuwabara's arm as he escorted her up the stone path, her instability – for once – not due to drunkenness. Sobs resounded through the courtyard as she clutched for air, all the while murmuring "my baby" and "sweet Keiko". I couldn't help but smile at the myriad dragon stitched onto her own black robes, utterly out of place amidst her current state:

Kuwabara's comforts only served to amplify her weeping.

The mothers assembled, my charge tightened her grip and we set off with measured steps. Shizuru rolled her eyes as her brother trotted back to take his place, though I didn't miss the smile tugging her lips. Her kimono suited her, lurid orchids thriving across scarlet fabric. Standing close as we were, my hair brushed her shoulder more than once. From an outsider's perspective, it may well seem she chose her attire with me in mind–

If only it were so.

Botan's laughter carried on the wind as she and Hiei began their journey, the latter scowling all the while. Hair fashioned in a series of well-placed loops, the pink of the grim reaper's kimono did nothing to hide her rosy cheeks, the humor directed at her partner. Hiei muttered something I heard but dared not repeat and she laughed all the more, lost to happiness.

How Yusuke convinced him to wear a suit was beyond me.

Kuwabara came next, escorting the love of his life. Yukina looked lovely in her lilac kimono, a simple thing decorated only by the ornamental clip at the crown of her head. Keiko had chosen the garment herself, declaring how it complimented the ice maiden's eyes.

This must have been true, for Kuwabara could look at nothing else.

Yusuke stood beside Genkai, bare toes braced against the tatami mats. Ever-confident, he nodded to each of his guests, smirking at Hiei's glare. Hands buried in black haori sleeves, the former detective took care not to cover the family symbol on his breast, shifting every so often to test the limits of the hakama. Each fidget was followed by a yelp as his master kicked his shin, hissing for him to be still. Yusuke glowered at Kuwabara's snorts and Atsuko's echoing Genkai's reprimand, nose wrinkled to the point he appeared more beast than human.

All such shenanigans ceased, however, the moment he saw his bride.

Keiko's uchikake complimented her form perfectly, white folds hugging all the right places. The cumbersome veil hid her face as her guide kept pace at her back, wagasa shielding her from the sun. Koenma held the umbrella with sure fingers, pacifier clamped firmly in place, despite his enlarged form. If Spirit World's newest leader minded his minor role in the ceremony, he hid it well.

Perhaps he was simply grateful to be included.

Yusuke's smile lit the room as Keiko took her place at his side, palm placed inside his well-worn hand. Genkai's prayer did not last long and soon the two exchanged vows, nearly screaming at each other over Atsuko's happy cries. Rings slid onto ready fingers and Mrs. Yukimura gasped once more at the diamonds adorning Keiko's band, the merriment in her daughter's eyes:

As if Yusuke could refuse her anything.

A single kiss and it was all over. Months of planning, fretting, and late night pep-talks abolished by a single press of lips. The reception carried far into the night, demon and human alike making complete fools of themselves. Though both bride and groom mingled sporadically with their guests, Yusuke never strayed far from Keiko's side. Each time his gaze found her, I saw such love and pride reflected there I wondered how he contained it–

Shizuru didn't spare me a second glance.

_Hey you, don't help them to bury the light._

_Don't give in without a fight._

"_It's for security purposes_."

The world shifted and I bit my cheek, pushing each emotion away as quickly as they rose. Night had long-since gathered and the plants begged for water yet I couldn't bring myself to move. Not yet.

"_I'm sure I don't have to tell__** you**__ how fragile this peace is._"

Koenma's words from hours before flooded my lungs, drowning out the need to breathe. Only when spots dotted my vision did I allow air in, the motion causing my hands to tremble.

An executive order, signed and sealed with his own hand.

"_How would it look if the illustrious spirit detectives were seen together now?_"

The conversation remained fixed on repeat, pounding my skull. Thunder rumbled in the distance yet my apartment remained wrapped in darkness, silence interrupted only by nature's cry and the ticking of the clock. Limited access, monitored contact, forbidden from speaking each other's names in public–

"_You understand, don't you?_"

Lightning flashed and I curled further into the window, forehead resting against fogged-over glass. Rain assaulted the city much like a fervent lover, pressing unselfish kisses to every surface imaginable. Pedestrians ran for cover as the water fell upon their heads, cleansing the earth, washing the city of its sins. Each drop pierced my heart, drove blood from my brain–

And still the flowers cried.

A/N: Hello and welcome! I told myself I wouldn't begin another story until I finished my two on-going fics, but here we are.

'Hey You' has tugged at my brain for months, begging to be told. I've wondered for years how Kurama's life would go after YYH ends, mostly due to the fact that he seemed likely to end up alone. This story was inspired by the Pink Floyd song by the same title and will be told from Kurama's as well as another character's first-person POV. I tried to write this in third person but it never sounded right, so I apologize to readers who dislike canon characters being written from a first-person perspective.

Some uncomfortable themes will be explored in this story, namely loneliness, depression, lethargy and insanity. These are real issues and I do not believe any person/character is immune from them, even Kurama, Mr. Wonderful himself.

That being said, I hope you enjoy 'Hey You' or, at the very least, give it a chance. You will not be disappointed.

Cultural notes: Japanese weddings are normally small affairs, attended only by famliy and close friends. The receptions can quite large however. All men except the groom wear suits, while the women normally wear kimonos. The mothers of the bride and groom wear black kimonos with colorful stitching while the groom wears a black kimono with the family symbol stitched in white.

Haori – Overcoat for male kimono.

Hakama – Pants of male kimono.

Uchikake – Japanese bride's wedding kimono.

Wagasa – Oil paper umbrella.


	2. Proclivity

_Our days are filled with a constant stream of decisions._

_Most are mundane, but some are so important_

_that they can haunt you for the rest of your life._

_Travis Bradberry_

Proclivity

He came every day just after three.

Chin in hand, I glanced at the over-sized clock just above the counter. Great arms stretched in some ridiculous pose, fingers pointed to their destinations with certainty. Two o'clock and six o'clock; 2:30 pm–

Stupid thing must be broken.

Dappled notes whispered in my ear and I sighed, taking a sip from the porcelain cup. Even though it was five minutes from the train station, Black Lotus served the best coffee in Mushiyori. Renovated from an old drug store, the owners decided to keep as much of the place as original as possible. Bare brick flecked with plaster constituted the back and side wall, each adorned with spotless steel shelves where customers placed their belongings. Antique cubbies lined the left-hand wall from top to bottom, each bursting at the seams with coffees, teas, and various cups. The bar began at the door and spanned the length of the shop, accessible only from a small entrance at the back. Despite the new paint job and modern appliances, the metal block took me back to the fifties – a relic nearly forgotten by time. Eight stools stood at attention before the bar, single legs cemented cruelly in place. A quaint, quiet room; the perfect place to hide.

Or, it should have been.

"I'm telling you, it's true!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down!"

I sighed, removing one ear bud. Normally, I came here to decompress before or after work, given the schedule. Actually, management learned years ago to expect me at two every afternoon I was in town. Alone.

However, such was not the case today.

"Look, all I'm saying is this could be bad for us."

This from Motaru, who'd yet to touch his drink. Easily 6'2 and wide as two average-sized men, the rookie resembled a giant invited to a child's tea party, hunched as he was in his seat. Each time I looked at Motaru, I wondered how his body managed to contain him. Muscle pressed against every inch of sun-kissed skin; there wasn't more than an inch of fat. His occupation always came up when making small talk on the subway or at the station: are you a model? An athlete? A bodybuilder?

However, when he announced his official position, no one knew quite what to say.

Scowling, the twenty-three year old glared at the cooling cup, running a hand across close-cropped hair. "They're stronger than us and nearly impossible to kill. And have you seen them _move_? Poetry in motion, a dancer's dream." He lifted his tea but thought better of it, sable eyes nearly disappearing as he wrinkled his nose. "Some of them even _look_ like us!"

"And you have a problem with that?"

Tatsuo's tone remained level, as always. If Motaru was a giant, Tatsuo had to be a dwarf – the thinnest dwarf in the world. Short-limbed and lean, one would think a swift wind gust could carry him away. Hair pulled into a tight bun, speckles of silver dotted ochre locks, though he'd just turned thirty-five. Dressed in impeccable blue, Tatsuo folded his hands before his cup, steam massaging stark cheekbones and a narrow nose. Amicable amber regarded the younger man through drawn lashes, though he made no move to speak further.

"What, you think I'm some sort of bigot?" Motaru sighed, finally taking a sip of coffee. He remained silent for a moment, brows knit as he studied the cup. "I don't have a problem with them personally – demons have just as much a right to live as we do – I just don't want them taking _our_ job." A sullen murmur and he returned the porcelain to its coaster, fingering the smooth finish. "They're better than us in every way."

A flash of color and my eyes wandered back to the counter. Black Lotus' newest patron stood at the door, the only customer present besides us. Half a head higher than the average man, too-pale skin clothed his face and throat – flesh which rarely saw the light of day. A beige business suit further pushed him toward an occupation in academia or as an office monkey, though I couldn't tell which. Scarred hands remained hidden in his pockets today, still as dead worms beneath the earth. Quiet and unassuming, he waited patiently for the barista to make his drink, ghost of a smile turning both lips. Liquid fire spilled from his scalp to brush narrow hips, tamed only by a black ribbon which would look ridiculous on anyone else. Soft features, rounded ears and a shapely nose, each drawing attention to green eyes, dull as unpolished emeralds–

How long had he been standing there?

"There's already been protests all over the world. Some have even been violent!"

"And you approve of those?" Tatsuo grunted.

Feather-light music bled from the ear bud as he took his drink with a formal 'thank you', moving to the seat furthest from the door.

"No, I didn't say that!"

I first noticed him two months ago, though how long he'd actually been a patron here was beyond me. His appearance didn't catch my eye – there were enough beautiful men in the world without him – though his meticulousness did. Every day the same thing: he entered the shop, stood by the door, somehow acknowledging everyone without looking them in the eye. Always the same drink – green tea with ginger and a splash of milk – to be enjoyed alone for exactly thirty minutes while reading a book. The books were the only anomalies in his routine, however. I'd never seen him bring the same one twice. He read everything from fiction to biographies, poetry and biology; though, to his credit, I'd never seen him carry around trashy romance novels–

Maybe he left those at home.

"A lot of people are scared, Tatsu." Motaru pressed, using the self-imposed nickname. Our senior hated nicknames. "And I can't really blame them. The Diet is having to pass new legislation now, changing how our society works just to suit _them_."

The work of choice today was an extended version of _Beowulf_, complete with short essays and commentary from multiple scholars. The essay topics featured on the back cover caught my eye, bloody font baring its teeth. Most featured Grendel in some shape or form and some focused on him completely: _The Monster in the Man_; _Murderous Creatures Banished: Grendel and the Human Psyche_; _It Dwelt Beneath the Deep – Grendel as Other_; and on and on. I hadn't read _Beowulf_ in years – not since high school – yet I didn't remember much about Grendel other than he ate humans. Funny:

I'd never seen him read books on monsters before.

"What do you think, Azumi?"

Biting back a sigh, I turned to our merry group. Motaru wrung his hands as he stared imploringly, an odd habit for a man of his girth. Tatsuo watched on in stone-faced silence, though exasperation pulled at the corners of his eyes. A warning rested on his tongue, ready to fire at my word but I shook my head. One glance proved our guest listened intently as well:

He'd yet to turn a single page.

"Azumi?"

"Motaru," The fidgeting stopped almost immediately – my tone left no room for distractions. "Where do you think demons come from?"

"Huh? Well," His voice trailed off and he licked his lips, staring at his hands. "According to that Koenma guy, some place called the Demon World–"

"Yes, but what about before then?" I pressed, giving up on the music and removing the remaining earbud. "Where were demons before this so-called 'Demon World' existed?"

He looked at me then, brow furrowed as he followed the cord wrapping around my fingers. "What do you mean _before_?"

"Think about it." A popping sound and I fanned the air, rotating my wrist in a circle. "All around the world, civilizations have been built upon a mythos in some shape or form: beliefs in beings while, not necessarily heavenly, are definitely supernatural. For example, don't you find it odd that legends of dragons exist on nearly every continent? How about witches, or spirits?" I counted them off one after another, fingers weaved-through with the rubber cord. "Fairy tales repeat themselves in the East and West, variations existing only where humans have put them. Don't you understand what this means?"

Motaru chewed his inner cheek, teeth grinding like a millstone. "What are you getting at?"

"Humans have known about demons since the dawn of time – we only chose to ignore them when they became inconvenient for us." I stretched against the wooden chair back, grunting as my back popped. "We pushed them out of our world to begin with, so we can't complain too much if they want back in."

Suddenly his jaw stopped working and he stared, eyes widening by the second. "Don't tell me you _agree_ with–"

"All I'm saying is whining won't change anything." Checking the time, my body rose of its own accord, taking my coffee cup with it. "My opinion doesn't matter and yours doesn't, either. They're here whether you like it or not."

I drained the last of my drink, tucking a stray strand behind one ear. Movement in my peripheral and I found _him_ staring at me, book forgotten in his hands. For the first time since spying him months ago a flicker of light glimmered in his eyes, pale ferns shifting secrets I couldn't hope to know. Intelligence danced in their depths, the cogs of an ever-working mind–

A buzzing in my pocket and I looked away, hand diving for the device. "You need to be mature enough to form your own opinion, Motaru. Do some research: read a book, talk to a demon, however you want to do it." I placed a fistful of coins on the table, frowning. "Don't jump on a band-wagon and don't make everyone spoon-feed you information – both lead to half-baked ideas."

My pocket vibrated again and I sighed, turning from my coworkers and those lingering eyes. "Odawara here."

A/N: Hello again! Hope you enjoyed a look at the OC for this story, Azumi Odawara. I decided to write this story alternating between Kurama and Azumi's perspectives because they both have equal say in the story but if anyone needs specification on whose mind we're in for each chapter, please let me know.

Thank you McMousie and WhatWouldValeryDo for your reviews and to all you other wonderful readers out there!

And thank you WhatWouldValeryDo for beta reading this chapter!

So, integration of demons into the human world is not going as smoothly. What does this have to do with Azumi's occupation, and what's the deal with this red-headed stranger? Find out next time!


	3. Brain Damage

_The lunatic is in my head._

_The lunatic is in my head._

_You lock the door_

_And throw away the key_

_There's someone in my head but it's not me._

_Roger Waters_

Brain Damage

'_How are you?_'

Incessant chattering assaulted my ears, a television blaring news somewhere next door. Black flooded the floors, dripped from the ceiling, the walls, greedy mouth ready to engulf the bed in one bite. Papers scattered across unfeeling tile alongside empty takeout cartons, numbers glaring with hungry red eyes. Unpaid bills chided from disorderly piles atop the kitchen counter, stained envelopes baring ragged teeth. Countless articles of clothing spilled from dresser drawers, draped themselves over chairs, hung from unsuspecting knobs–

'_How are you?_'

A sock lay beneath a discarded pen, crimson toes dyed with ink. I couldn't remember what happened to the sock's companion, nor when the ink cartridge began to leak. Even now, if I listened closely, the oozing liquid assaulted my ears, seeped into my brain–

Drowning out the dark.

'_How are you?_'

Finally, I forced my attention elsewhere. Kuwabara's text glared from the luminous screen, as it had for days now. An innocent inquiry, stemming from a kind and generous heart–

A message I could not answer.

The plants whimpered and my gaze shifted, staring instead at the slow-moving fan. Stale air circulated the room, lodging the stench of week-old dishes and parched soil in the back of my throat. Sweat peppered each pore, matting my hair; pooled at the most inconvenient places. I'd given up any semblance of sleeping in pajamas after leaving mother's house months ago – the practice always struck me as odd – yet now donning garments even to go outside presented a daunting task. Each garment became a threat in and of itself: socks schemed to amputate my feet; pants plotted to dislocate both hips while boxers battled to castrate their vulnerable captive. Shirts pulled at chest and wrists like so many restraints while ties tethered my throat, silencing screams and promising sleep through strangulation–

Needless to say, clothes and I had long-since refused to see eye-to-eye.

Discarded undergarments nipped at my toes but I kicked them away, glancing once more at the cellphone. After several failed attempts of sending a satisfactory reply I'd given up, resolved to our fate. According to the restraining order, we were allowed contact through five text messages weekly, one phone call, as well a single face-to-face meeting a month. How Koenma intended to carry out these conditions was beyond me – he certainly had his hands full with the integration of human and demon-kind – though I had no doubt King Enma would make good on his promise:

Spirit World could be quite meticulous when it wanted to be.

While Kuwabara showed great restraint in sending a single message, Yusuke essentially gave his former superior the finger by orchestrating no less than twenty texts, fifteen phone calls with as many voicemails, as well as appearing outside the bank one night when I left work.

I scrolled through each of the messages in turn, chuckling dryly at his ever-colorful language and crude similes, more often soliloquies than intended conversation starters. Each boasted understated frustrations or inquiries into my well-being, all in true Yusuke-fashion. The voicemails began pleasantly enough, ranging from asking about mother to whether or not I'd "gotten lucky" yet. However, these soon devolved into screaming matches with my voice recording, the worst of which threatened posting nude photographs of himself on my windows if I did not return his calls.

Each remained dormant in my inbox.

Hiei's response was the only one which caught me off guard. While I did not expect the younger demon to become enraged and throw a tantrum like Yusuke or show blatant concern and confusion as Kuwabara had, I predicted the news would elicit some form of reaction, a sense of anger or loss. However, Hiei simply held my gaze as was his habit, eyes unmoving as ruby pillars.

"Of course, you will still be allowed into the Human World – your position within the border patrol gives you that right." Alaric's infamous winter gale whipped at my hair, unforgiving air stinging both cheeks and eyes. "Although, barring the breakdown of the peace or an unprecedented situation, we can only contact one another sparingly."

Here he snorted, a sound nearly lost to the wind as he took the proffered document containing restrictions specified for him. Things such as text messages and phone calls meant nothing to Hiei. "Koenma is a fool."

"Regardless," I pressed, recalling the consequences outlined in thick ink. "Any threat to this peace will be counted as an act of treason, one punishable by death. Whereas Spirit World may feel inclined to mercy toward the others because of their predispositions, we cannot hope for such luxuries." Hands slid into ready coat pockets and I willed logic to overtake me, to tamp down how I truly felt. "We have come too far for that, my friend."

The young prince's cowardice in making me courier to Spirit World's whims boiled my blood, giving rise to a hunger deep inside I'd almost forgotten. Kuwabara's shock pushed my face against the soiled pillow; Yusuke's anger dug into ready skin, whereas Hiei's cold silence stoppered the scream in my throat, the sound escaping as a muffled whimper. Moisture beaded beneath the nails at my scalp, heavy with the smell of copper–

The bed sheets would not last until morning.

_Why not just kill them?_

I froze, blood budding between gritted teeth. Slowly, I forced myself to breath, counting backwards from ten and, when that did not help, one hundred. Certain impulses began entering my consciousness of late – baser instincts, thought patterns from a life past – each more difficult to control by the day. Nightly, grotesque images haunted my dreams, visions of exacting revenge on all who'd contributed to this pain. Time and again, I witnessed Koenma dead at my feet, Enma's head upon my table; Yusuke and the others torn by ready claws and barbed vines; silver locks dyed red by their essence:

Unsurprisingly, sleep and I parted company last week.

A glass vial watched on next to the coffee maker, amber liquid glinting in the moonlight. While I'd modified the medicine Suzuka gave me during the Dark Tournament to suppress these urges, I'd failed to take it as of late. The struggle between mind and body persisted daily regarding nourishment, every faculty having decided to reject anything with a trace of smell or texture. Unfortunately, the 'miracle drug' fell in with the former.

I'd been unable to drink it for quite some time.

Suddenly, a knot formed behind my navel, ravenous teeth twisting my gut first this way then that. A muffled groan into the pillow as eager knees rammed against my chest, hands trembling like frightened birds. No, please no . . . I'd been able to eat tonight: a gift left by Yusuke, complete with a caricature of him kicking a fox in the rear. I couldn't–

_Kill them._

I was running before conscious thought hit, scrambling across the battleground of a room as a hand flew to my mouth. Grace had no say when I slipped on a pair of slacks; gross motor skills did not care when I crushed containers along the way, some of which cut the bottoms of my feet. Several papers followed as I threw myself over the toilet bowl, vomiting what precious little made it into my stomach.

This continued for several minutes, long after I'd lost anything save acid to regurgitate. Undigested noodles swam merrily in their new home, half-eaten bits of vegetables and fish winking at me. Each breath ravaged my throat; sounds I had not made since kit-hood filled the narrow space, stuck to the walls:

Reminded me I was pitifully human.

Fire gripped my esophagus, warred against my tongue as shaking fingers sought the elusive lever. Finally, cool steel touched skin, sending muck-filled water away in a colorful display. Cheek pressed to unfeeling porcelain, the whimpers bubbling my throat faded to barely audible whines. A few moments longer and these too fell away, joining the knots in my stomach.

Once the room ceased spinning, unsteady feet slick with blood forced me to stand, hands blindly grasping the sink. I did not wish to see the red prints upon the floor, nor hear the phone buzzing in the next room. Eyes tracing the specter in the mirror, I desired most what I could not have–

I wanted all of this to stop.

"Shuichi, do you have a moment?"

Hands stilling in sorting the month's statements, I glanced over my shoulder. Kazuya Hatanake stood in the doorway of my office, effectively barring a speedy escape. A wisp of a man, my stepfather was both slimmer and shorter than I, though he possessed a calming spirit which immediately put those around him at ease. Dark suit tailored for his slight frame, he refused to show any signs of unease, though anxiety rolled from him in waves.

Precise stacks forgotten, I turned to face him, thoughts immediately flying to mother. "Is everything all right?"

"What? Yes! Well, actually," Here he paused, running a hand through peppered hair. "That is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Several scenarios ran through my mind at once, none of which fully explained his cryptic speech. "Oh?"

"Do you have some time now?"

"Well, actually," My voice trailed off and I glanced to the work still on my desk, the black-and-red numbers snarling on each page. "I still have a lot of work to do, Dad. Perhaps some other time?"

"Shuichi . . ." Here he sighed, a great sound for such a small frame as he nudged the door closed. Immediately, I felt my back stiffen – he never demanded privacy for our conversations. "Look son, your mother and I are worried about you."

Again, thoughts flew faster than I could catch them, adding to the nausea which had become my companion. "I beg your pardon?"

"In just six months, you've become our top loan officer – outranking even those who have been with the company for years."

My brows furrowed, thinking back over my time with the firm. "And this is unsatisfactory?"

A sigh and he rubbed at his eyes, glasses balanced atop prominent knuckles. "While we appreciate your diligence, Shuichi, you have handed in more work than I believed humanly possible during that time – more than some of my employees accomplish in an entire year."

I sought to read the intent behind his words but Kuwabara's face entered my mind's eye, chasing away any hopes of inference. "What are you saying?"

Another sigh and he smiled, a gesture reeking of pity. "Go home, Shuichi. Take some time off: go on a trip, stay at home, I don't care how you do it. Just get out of the office for a bit."

Immediately my stomach surged, images from the night before assaulting my senses. A dark hole reeking of mildew and perpetual rot, a wasteland of seeping containers and putrid laundry. "No, I'm quite all right. Really." I assured hurriedly, forcing a smile to curl both lips. "There's no need to–"

"This is not negotiable." An edge entered his voice and he stood a bit taller, arms crossing over his chest. "I'm ordering you to take a week off." A pause, a spark of insight lighting his eyes. "And if I hear of you taking work home again anytime soon, you _will_ be fired." My eyes narrowed without my permission, incensed by his words. "Do we understand each other?"

For a brief moment, I debated arguing with him, begging . . . anything to avoid that fate. Wax leaves scraped my skin as I reached for the spot of green, desperate for a spark of life, a sense of usefulness, belonging–

'_How are you?_'

"Shuichi?"

I blinked, raising my gaze. The stones fell from Kazuya's countenance to reveal open concern and he stepped forward, reaching for me. "Are you all right?"

Scarlet streaked my vision as I shook my head, shoving the offending hand into a jacket pocket. "Yes, my apologies." His mouth opened but I gave a bow, one much deeper than the situation required. "I will do whatever is best for the company."

Again, his brows furrowed though he did not object. Bowing in turn, his body swiveled as I glided past, already opening the door to the now-stifling room. "Shuichi–"

"Have a good day, Dad." My gut twisted as I smiled for him. "See you next week."

He returned the small wave and I turned, walking down the hall. Already, the apartment taunted me, beckoning with decrepit lips–

It was going to be a long week.

A/N: Thank you for all who have taken an interest in this story! This is a new take on an old character, though I cannot bring myself to believe Kurama is above depression and loneliness, especially with how long he has lived. Add to that how much humans feel on a basic level and this is what came when I took away his support system. Nothing good or bad lasts forever though, so take heart!

Thank you so much WhatWouldValerieDo for beta reading!

So, Kurama has been left to his own devices for a week. How will he fare without any distractions, and is a break really the best thing for him? Read on to find out!


	4. Disengage

_Fear invariably and universally induces_

_disengagement, and disengagement is_

_negative division of labor._

_Alan Greenspan_

Disengagement

_Breathe_.

Frantic heartbeats almost overrode the string sonata as I stood on the rooftop, sultry notes pouring from translucent mouths. My ears stung with the sound but I ignored it, grimacing at the thick liquid seeping from one shoulder. A practiced breeze whipped hair from my sweat-streaked face, allowing a clear view of those spilling through the open door.

The snapping of five metal jaws filled the air, each trained on my head and chest, wielded by well-trained dogs intent on protecting their master. A prized pet stood behind them, nursing a head injury while the main attraction smirked, safe inside his living fortress. All men I knew and trusted–

They couldn't help me now.

Glancing over one shoulder, the city opened its mouth wide for me, bearing vicious teeth in the form of power poles, parked cars and bus stops. Each detail stung – the objects were only an inch in diameter – and grew smaller by the second. Invisible assailants clawed my abdomen, my biceps, my chest; restricting air flow, cutting off circulation. No matter how much I hated it, the command had been given–

There was no turning back.

_Breathe_.

Suddenly, Tatsuo's words from our first job flooded my ears, overriding the violin solo. '_Just focus on the blue – blue never lies and takes your mind wherever it needs to go_.'

Tipping my head back, I forced my attention away, far from the gaping maw and buildings the color of spoiled mayonnaise. The sky was just as I remembered it: thick with clouds like looming giants, each promising rain, each waiting to swallow the city. Not surprising given the time of year, but definitely not what I wanted to see. However, after nearly a full minute of searching, a sigh breached my lips:

Despite everything, blue remained.

The raindrop grew into a crystal sea and I closed my eyes, lost to the deep as harps joined their companions. Blue cascaded again and again and still I waited, ready for the images that were sure to come: a tiny house, the garden full of lilies and hydrangeas; parks with scented trees and laughing children. Pretty lady on the big screen; a stone staircase covered with vines. Big teeth, a piercing scream–

_Breathe_.

I gasped, wincing as air filled my starved lungs. The men waited still, confident, black mouths never wavering.

Their boss chose then to step forward, pale hands empty, entreating. "Just give up."

A low hiss and I grit my teeth, heart hammering against aching ribs.

'_Just give up – let blue have you_.'

The patch of sky filled my vision once again and I dove beneath the waves, carving through each image with ready fingers:

_Dancing daffodils under a sunlit sky; painted roses coloring an aged fence, red, pink and white giving life to outdated playground equipment. Birds singing; high-pitched laughter. A spirited game of tag, the wind in my face–_

_ A child's paradise._

_ Too soon, dusk dusted the sky and everyone went home. A hand in mine, pulling me down the street – a woman's hand. Unbalanced singing, tasteful warbling from a honeyed throat:_

_ Mommy._

_ The river gurgled below, timid yet assuring in its flow. Street lights buzzed to life in the gathering darkness. A reminder from a passing stranger of rising crime rates in the city._

_ Then, the faceless man appeared._

"There's nowhere left for you to run."

My gaze fixed once more on the armed men, feet retreating one inch, then two. Blue hugged the corner of my eye, knowing, assuring–

Promising refuge from reaching hands.

The wind took the leader's gasp as I leaned back, allowing the sky to take me. "Don't–!"

But it was too late.

I was falling.

"I think we got it all in one shot."

Ayumu bit his inner cheek, checking the footage once more on the laptop at his side. Two cameras fed directly into their respective ports via twining cables whereas a single USB drive protruded from the opposite end of the device, effectively giving everyone the middle finger.

Idle chatter and the shuffling of equipment faded as I drank deeply from a water bottle, the liquid instantly calming my roiling stomach. A young director with remarkable intuition, Daichi Ayumu never hesitated when something caught his eye. At only thirty years old, Ayumu retained the daring limited to youth, giving his films a definite yet intangible edge in the market. While several agencies could only view a stunt double with an aversion to heights as flawed, he saw such a thing as a minor setback. Nicknamed Napoleon for his stature and ravenous ambition, he never hesitated when making a decision, especially if the choice was controversial.

Thus, how I came to be a part of nearly all his films.

Running a hand through finger-length locks, Ayumu resettled his cap, the logo for the Hanshin Tigers glaring from his forehead. "Darken the lighting a bit here, cut out the bit showing your face there, and perfect!" He grinned, tapping away at the keyboard with decisive clicks. Motioning me over, he enlarged the screen once again. "What do you think?"

Before I could generate a response, the feed played me falling from the roof, hands and feet reaching skyward. Even though I knew how the shot ended – the ballooned mat catching me with open arms – I couldn't bring myself to watch past the first frame.

Jaw set, I took another sip of water, forcing words through a clogged throat. "It's fine."

Sympathy softened Ayumu's ruddy face and he nodded, rising from his chair. "You did great, Odawara."

Gut twisting with effort, I forced the words out. "If we need to do it again–"

"There's no need." He smiled, saving the clip to the protruding drive. "You've done your job – leave the rest to the editors."

After a moment's hesitation, I nodded, ashamed at the sweat beading my brow. The office building loomed before us, brick roof taunting from seventy five stories up. "What else?"

"Nope, that's all." Ayumu motioned to the actors going over their lines a few yards away, one a woman wearing a costume similar to mine. "It's their turn now, so take the rest of the day off. We'll pick up again tomorrow."

I couldn't stop the frown marring my mouth, nor the sting of partiality. "Ayumu–"

"Seriously, you've done enough, Odawara." He sat back down, eyes glancing over a digital list from the tablet in his hand. "We'll start fresh tomorrow."

Everything within me wanted to argue but Ayumu was already gone, mentally immersed in the next task. Tongue catching a sigh, I gave a short bow before turning, leaving the set with measured steps.

Shuffling feet gave away his presence, each step trampling Einaudi's _Divenire_. "Good job today."

My gaze shifted, though I didn't dare move my head – a makeup artist's wrath was a turbulent force, even when they were stripping away a masterpiece. Motaru stood just inside the area designated for my dressing room, hands thrust deep into denim pockets. Already out of clean-up, his street clothes pulled at taut muscles, giving him the appearance of a pro-athlete or bodyguard rather than an actor. Looking first this way then that, he somehow made the space appear smaller than it actually was, meaty head blocking any natural light from beyond the canvas flaps.

A grunt of acknowledgment appeared to satisfy him and he settled in to wait, helping himself to a fold out chair placed for just that purpose.

Fake blood and too many products to name fell beneath the woman's skilled fingers and I gave myself over to her touch, lost to the music and memories of blue.

Or rather, what the blue refused to show me.

Dull green settled into the memory, banishing the faceless man's laugh and the screams that followed. Unpolished emeralds drew me once more to Black Lotus, to the man lost to his books and ever-cooling coffee. Those eyes acted as a balm, banishing any remnants fear from the fall as well as that dreadful night. Steady hands, lips tracing printed words–

Why couldn't I get him off my mind?

"Is it, um," Motaru's voice broke through his spell and I realized the woman was no longer at my side. In fact, we were alone in the dressing room and he'd risen, hands still buried in his pockets. "Getting any easier?"

I eased out of the chair, rolling both shoulders first back, then forward. A fear of heights was something no one would readily admit, though in our profession, the phobia carried a heavier shame, a feeling of dread with each new contract–

Also, such a thing made our job even more dangerous.

"You mean jumping?" I asked, reaching for the yellow blouse on the equipment case. Too late, I remembered the make up artist stripped my abdomen to the bare essentials. A sports bra alone separated my chest from the open air – a fact Motaru's reddened face and averted gaze attested to. Oh, well:

Nothing could be done for it now.

"Y-yeah." He mumbled, rubbing meaty fingers across a threadbare scalp. "I mean . . . This was your first time since _then_, right?"

My fingers faultered.

_Then_. Leave it to Motaru – lumbering, awkward, kind-hearted Motaru – to handle such a matter delicately.

We first met six months ago, on the set of another Ayumu project. The film in question was another oddball idea which exploded in the box office – a sci-fi bit about robots taking over the world. Even though it was the kid's first gig, Ayumu hired Motaru and I to work together on the piece: our characters were partners, so it made perfect sense to the director and no one objected. Explosions, car chases, hand-to-hand combat with CGI cyborgs–

Everything went smoothly until the fourth day of filming.

Motaru and I attended similar schools for our line of work, yet when the time came for me to really show him the ropes – a scene where we jumped from building to building to escape enemy fire– I couldn't deliver. In fact, Motaru sailed across the gap while I stood frozen in place, staring at the street below. It didn't matter that invisible wires separated me from oblivion, that various fail-safes were in place to prevent disaster. Every color faded to gray; my tongue stuck in my throat. Before I knew it, fire took hold of my lungs and I was falling, the world uncaring of my plight.

I woke up to Motaru cradling me like a small child.

Hyperventilation was nothing new with this phobia, especially living in a big city, but never before had an episode occurred while filming. After being cleared by the medical team, Ayumu sent me home. Motaru confided later that he'd seen me tottering and rushed back to catch me; he almost didn't make it. I felt it my duty to tell him about my fear, revealing only the bare essentials–

He didn't need to know the whole truth, anyway.

"Yeah, I suppose so." I smiled, pocketing the ear buds before pushing both arms through the sleeves. Buttons slid into place easily enough and I adjusted the collar, checking the reflection in the full length mirror. "It wasn't as bad this time."

The admission came out softer than I intended, though he didn't question my tone. "What changed?"

Muted green eyes flashed across my mind's eye and my hands faltered, staring at the glass. "Nothing much."

He snorted, an uncharacteristically harsh sound. "Oh, come on, Odawara–"

"I just listened to Tatsuo. That's all."

A raised brow."Tats, huh?" He smirked then, a knowing gesture. "His whole speech on 'surrendering to the sky'?"

"Something like that, yeah."

Dense knowing gave way to musing as he frowned, one hand coming to pull at the chest of his white shirt. "For some reason, that never worked for me. I just jump and don't really think about it, you know?" Bottom lip lifting, he sighed, releasing the garment. "Guess it only works for scaredy-cats."

I smirked in turn, turning to face him. "Oh? And who was it that puked everywhere the first time he saw fake blood on-set?"

Motaru grinned, a blush dusting both cheeks. "Least I don't pass out from the view four stories up."

"As charming as this is, I'm ready to go home." I patted his arm, shouldering past him and into the sun's embrace. "We'll work more on your foreplay next time."

"Wait – foreplay?"

"I'm home!"

The call went unanswered as I removed my shoes in the genkan, feet sliding readily into their favorite slippers. Two guest pair remained stationary in the slotted table, both house warming gifts only used once.

Keys jangled in the ashtray and I stepped onto the smooth wood floor, a cooling Black Lotus to-go cup in-hand. Dusk lit the living room in brilliant light, dying the furniture and walls varying reds, yellows, and oranges. Three floor-to-ceiling bookcases, one rarely used television; a couch and love-seat set, and a wooden coffee table adorned with a stack of neatly-typed pages made up the living area. A record player sat on a shelf in the corner along with several LPs – my only extravagant purchase – keeping watch over my latest victim.

The fern had lasted longer than expected. After purchasing the plant at a weekend market, I'd spent the last month caring for it to the best of my ability. However, despite ample watering and sunlight, receiving a name and even my conversing with it daily, the fern continued to die. Each frond drooped, faded leaf tips almost touching the floor–

This made the fifth one this year.

I sighed, choosing a record to play at random before sinking into the couch. Latin choir music filled the apartment, drowning out the sounds of traffic from the first floor window. Coffee coated my tongue as I took a grateful sip, eyes closing to the angelic voices of children.

However, a tickling at my nose forbade all thoughts of sleep.

Green eyes filled my vision and I grinned at the black face. "Holding the place down, Toki?"

The cat purred in response, side vibrating against my fingertips. A short-haired tom, Toki had come into my life two years ago. I don't know how he caught my attention out of the hundreds of strays in this city, yet one look at those big green eyes and I was at the vet's office within an hour. My landlord became furious when he saw the fur ball, demanding I either get rid of the kitten or move out.

We were gone the next day.

Toki grew at an alarming rate. Though not quite the size of a Himalayan, he was easily the biggest cat I'd ever owned and easily dwarfed the neighborhood felines. He got along well with animals, though he remained cautious of everyone besides me. So, whenever he somehow escaped the apartment – which happened more than I'd care to admit – all I had to do was find the biggest group of strays in the neighborhood and he was there.

Also, Toki never quite grew into his eyes; or rather, his eyes seemed to grow with him. This resulted in him having the eyes of a kitten even after growing into maturity–

Needless to say, I couldn't deny him anything.

"You think you have my number, huh?"

The purrs deepened though his gaze never left mine; a soft shuffling betrayed his tail's path along the back of the couch.

I rolled my eyes. "I _know_ you didn't eat all the food I left this morning."

A pitiful mew and his tongue darted out to like my cheek. However, he never blinked. Not once.

The couch groaned as I rose, shuffling to the kitchen with a sigh. Toki darted ahead, meows rising like a trumpet heralding cavalry. Sure enough, his food bowl was half full, though I indulged him by filling it with dry food.

Toki sat at my feet, glancing first at the dish, then up at me and back again before emitting another mew. "What?" His eyes found mine once again before traveling to refrigerator, ears twitching. "Uh, no. You hear me? _No_." A sound deep in his chest, as close to a whine a cat could get. "Look, that was for when you were sick. You had to eat soft food for a week on doctor's orders, remember?"

Of course he remembered. Never mind he'd had a tooth pulled because it was coming in crooked, threatening his other teeth. All Toki knew was that the white box before him had tasty food and that he would get it, no matter how long he had to wait.

We'd gone through this with chicken broth when he was a baby, too.

"Fine." I growled, opening the refrigerator to pull out the pink can of cat food.

Toki yowled as I plopped the patté on top of the kibbles and gave me his best smile before digging in, tail curling around his paws.

I watched him for a moment before throwing the can away, shooting a low "Brat" in his direction.

Toki flicked an ear my way and that was the end of it.

The evening news held as much promise as always: stories of protests across the globe against demons, interviews with various humans and demons in human form, as well as a replay of the message initially given by the elusive Koenma, who claimed to be too busy to give another public statement. Women crying, men cursing the government–

All a bit over-the-top for my taste.

Still, the sooner everyone accepted things as they were, the sooner we could all get back to our normal lives:

Demons existing in our world was nothing new.

A/N: Hello and apologies for the delay! Due to data issues I will only be able to upload on Wednesdays and Sundays until further notice. Also, this chapter took a bit because Yusuke and Kurama kept interrupting my thought process for Azumi.

Thank you once again WhatWouldValeryDo for beta-reading!

And thank you all new followers and favorites! Your support is appreciated!

So, we have rising unrest in Human World as well as a glimpse into Azumi's world. The boys are back next chapter. Thanks for your continued readership!


	5. A Friend in Need

_Let them think what they liked,_

_but I didn't mean to drown myself._

_I meant to swim till I sank –_

_but that's not the same thing._

_Joseph Conrad_

A Friend in Need

I jolted awake without warning, hand flying to smother the screams in my throat. Early morning sunlight massaged my face and hair, pulling me from dreams laden with rending claws and blood-lust. Even now, the silver-haired phantom danced across my mind's eye, thorned vines snaking up each arm. Ears perfectly erect, he glared without hesitation, golden eyes dripping with malice–

Hating my weakness.

_You're killing us._

A shudder and I settled back against the sheets, willing my breathing to slow. Torn fabric met skin, tickling my hands, sides, buttocks . . . every inch of my body. Glancing down, I noted the pattern-like rips in the material, the foam peeking through like so much bone–

The scarlet threads clinging to torn fingernails.

_You're __**killing**__ us, boy!_

Taking a deep breath, I pressed shaking hands to my eyes, knowing words could not appease him. Rather, I forced myself to think of mother: of her smile, her kindness when I least deserved it – when _we _least deserved it. The warmth of her touch, her bravery in the face of illness–

The woman he'd grown to love.

He calmed immediately, though I tasted his anger on my tongue. _Why won't you see her?_

I bit back a chuckle, pushing until both cheekbones ached. As a full-time wife and mother of a high school student, mother had little time for her grown son. Oh, no doubt she would make time if I asked, but I could not do that. Mother sacrificed much as a single parent, to the point where death nearly took her. She had the life she deserved now, needed and loved by Shuichi and his father–

I refused to disrupt her happiness.

A soundless snort, invisible eyes raking across my mind and fragmented thoughts. _You're a coward._

Sweat-soaked skin filled my nostrils as I sighed, offering a weak smile. Let him think that, if he wished–

I was little more than a vessel now, anyway.

A lily's cry drew my attention to the window and I paused, unsure whether to trust the sight. Sunlight shone through three pictures plastered to the glass – two photographs and one drawing – though one was considerably larger than the others. One photo focused on a man's genitalia, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination; the other framed a familiar scarred hand shooting a bird, offending finger angled masterfully at my bed. Finally, the penciled sketch captured a top-view of a scrotal sac, pubic hair swirling this way and that as a caricature pointed and laughed.

I blinked twice before the truth of the matter set in and I shook my head, shoulders shaking with mirth.

After all these years, I should know better than to doubt Yusuke's threats.

Stepping carefully across the room, I cracked the window open before peeling away each image, a task which took quite some time due to all the tape. How Yusuke posted the pictures by the bedroom was beyond me: the nearest fire escape lay beneath the living room window, and an ample corner separated it from my here.

However, my friend scaling this building up to the tenth floor was entirely plausible.

Pulling the pane shut, a cursory glance proved the sketch more complex than it appeared. What I first took to be hairs were in fact characters, hiragana symbols forming curving sentences:

:

_Thought I was fooling around, huh?_

_Well, joke's on you, fox boy!_

_Meet me at the ramen stand tonight or else!_

_Plenty more where this came from._

A deep chuckle. _You keep amusing company_.

My lips crept into a smile without permission, slipping the notes into a desk drawer. "Is that so?"

He kept silent though his humor remained, crystal mirth peering from a black sea. Yoko had always been fond of Yusuke – he'd demonstrated as much by allowing me to take on his form in order to avenge Yusuke's murder. While the others took time to grow on him, namely Kuwabara, Yusuke won Yoko's trust when he offered to give his life to save mother's. Protective by nature, kitsune guard their treasures fiercely, especially when those objects are wrapped in flesh. Yusuke's determination to protect Yoko's treasure – the woman he'd come to call mother – helped solidify his resolve to remain human.

If only Spirit World's paranoia hadn't usurped that sentiment.

_You should see him._

I sighed, massaging the tip of a fern frond. The plant purred at my touch, shuddering as energy poured from calloused fingertips. Just as liquid and its container are taken together as one, so too was our energy, despite our best efforts to remain separate. Just as Yoko fed upon me to remain in this body, so I fed upon him in order to remain. An ouroborus with no hope of reprieve:

Such was our existence.

"I cannot."

Ice slithered through my veins, though his response lacked emotion. _Why?_

"Surely you haven't forgotten King Enma's nature in twenty-odd years?" Trash brushed against my feet as I moved about the room, touching and filling each plant. "Spirit World forgives readily enough, but it never forgets. Yusuke and Kuwabara may escape punishment due to their records and shared humanity, though Yusuke has demon blood as well." Pinpricks lined my intestines, silver needles shifting every so often. "However, Hiei and I were both apprehended for stealing Spirit World's artifacts, and let's not forget why you came to this world in the first place, old friend." I smiled. "Provoking Enma would be foolish – he could find any number of reasons to put us away."

He listened without a sound, as though testing the weight of my words. Finally, when the hibiscus hugged my fingers with ready leaves: _Do you want to die?_

"Not particularly, no." I retracted my hand, watching the yellow petals sigh. "Though I suppose it matters little either way."

Pain coiled my stomach, a sensation I'd grown used to in the last few weeks. Every instinct called for sustenance – anything to curb the inevitable – but the mere thought of food made me queasy.

Shuffling to the bathroom, I turned on the faucet, willing cold water to fill both palms. However, for a moment I could only stare. Child-sized wrists, translucent skin, fingers resembling bleached talons rather than human digits–

These were not my hands.

A specter stared back from the mirror, eyes milky, unfocused. Bruised lids surrounded green irises, concave cheeks heralded cracked lips trembling with effort. Pale skin appeared sickly against red hair, each strand dulled by malnutrition:

This was not my face.

Suddenly, spots dotted my vision and fire settled once again in my belly, carving a path from my navel to my spine. Breath refused to enter my lungs, no matter how wide my mouth opened, and the world began to spin.

_Shuichi!_

Pain crashed once again and I crumpled to the floor, fireworks lighting my head. Something hot coated my face, running into my eyes and nose with abandon. My senses detected everything and nothing, each held in perpetual limbo as tightness continued to grow in my chest.

_Shuichi, you need to get help._ Yoko said, his voice an anchor to my over-stimulated brain. _If you don't get help, you're going to die._

"W-what's hap-pening?" I groaned, jaw grinding against another agonizing wave.

_You've deprived yourself for too long – your body is at it's limit._

My lungs devoured a precious breath, solidifying my thoughts.Mother's face flashed in my mind's eye and I grit my teeth, allowing self-preservation free reign. Nails scraping uselessly at the tiles, I tried and failed to rise twice before the beginnings of panic inched forth. "I . . . can't move!"

_Who can help?_

A handful of names surfaced though I dismissed each one. "N-no–"

_Then I'll ask again._

My bedroom loomed through the fog and I willed myself toward it, skin sticking to the floor. My phone; if I could only reach my phone–

_Do you want to die?_

They appeared then, welcome phantoms as darkness stole my sight. Yusuke's enthusiasm was as infectious as ever. Bangs shading his eyes, he grinned with both hands on his hips, baring every tooth in his head. I'd never understood how he carried the sun in his smile but basked in the light, allowing it to wash away the pain.

Hiei materialized next, mouth pulled into a decisive frown. Subtle emotion flickered behind ruby irises, so many fireflies glinting in the night. Nose wrinkling, he didn't comment on my nude state, nor the stench clinging to me. Rather, his natural heat spread without warning, thawing my flesh to something pliable once again.

The last kept his back to us, broad shoulders soaring above the others. Pompadour waving in the wind, Kuwabara refused to look at me, staring off somewhere in the distance. Even though he kept his gaze shielded, I could sense his disappointment, his heartache. He never moved once, as if his body were carved from stone–

So unlike the man I knew.

"Kuwabara?" Sandpaper ate at my throat, almost drowning out his name.

Yusuke raised a brow, bringing both hands behind his head. "Can you hear me? C'mon fox boy, get up!"

Anger flickered across Hiei's face, disgust at my weakness, no doubt. "Wake up, you fool!"

Kuwabara remained silent, impassive in the face of their distress.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

"Wake up, Kurama!"

"Please, wake up!"

A deep ache in my chest and I gasped, each sense rushing back with surprising clarity. Aged wood, cleaning products, freshly washed linens and the stale odor of cigarettes filled the air, each burning inhale clearing my brain. Heavy breaths, distant car horns, along with an insistent dripping I couldn't quite place; a clock marked the time somewhere. Iron coated my tongue and teeth, along with bile and bitterness which only came from medicine. Fiery darts assaulted my body, though such was bearable compared to the pain from earlier – a pain which now refused to rear its head. Finally, light assaulted my vision to the point I feared I'd entered the next world:

That is, until I the voice sounded again.

"Kurama?"

I followed the sound willingly, head turning with considerable effort. Kuwabara appeared through the haze, metamorphosing from rough shapes to the contours I knew so well. For once, his hair held no gel – a curled mop held back by a well-placed headband. Normally robust skin appeared ashen in my sight, though the arms bursting from his tank top were thick as ever. He held my gaze with rapt attention and though the beginnings of a smile turned his lips, it didn't quite reach his eyes, nor mask the anxiety I found there.

What had happened?

"Kurama, can you hear me?"

My jaw worked but for some reason, words refused to rise. Rather, a pitiful whimper leaked between parted lips and terror coiled my stomach, causing my fingers to twitch atop the bed sheets. No flora reached my nose, nor any familiar scent save my companion's–

Where were we?

Alarm never lit Kuwabara's face but rolled from his body in waves, cinnamon tufts mixing with cedar and something altogether homely. "T-that's okay man, don't worry about it." He spoke slowly, forcing the smile while enunciating each word. "You need to rest any–"

"Wh–where am . . . I?" I managed to rasp, ignoring the tightness in my throat.

"My house." He straightened, adjusting something at his side before leaning closer. "Alright, need to ask you some questions, okay?"

Suspicion slithered beneath my skin though I gave the slightest of nods.

Pen in hand, Kuwabara glanced down at a notepad in his lap, contemplating. "What's today's date?"

"June 24th." I answered without hesitation, gaze shifting to the ceiling.

A grunt and the pen scraped against paper. "What's your mother's first name?"

The dripping caught my ear again and my nostrils burned, though I smiled anyway. "Shiori."

I sensed more than saw him nod as the pen set to work again.

Then, after a moment's hesitation, "Do you live alone?"

That one caught me off-guard and I glanced his way, noting his sober look. A subtle shift caught my attention and something stirred deep inside, as though I were being watched–

Stalked by a predator with golden eyes.

"I'm never alone."

Another nod as he made a final note before setting the pad and pen aside. Bending closer, he began pressing at my abdomen, arms and neck with sure fingers, noting each pained sound and suspect areas. "I don't know how often you two talk, but next time you do, please thank him for me."

I raised a brow, silently questioning as he applied pressure just above my navel.

Kuwabara offered a sideways glance, contemplating. Then:

"If it wasn't for him, you'd be dead right now."

Only then did I notice the IV snaking from an inconspicuous stand, the thick tube pumping tan sludge into my side, the oxygen tank working to help me breathe. Dark bruises lined the top of my chest, each shaped after two familiar hands, along with dim outlines I couldn't quite place. Bandages covered my right hand and arm, folds hugging flesh from shoulder to fingertip. Though a thin sheet covered my lower half, I recognized the unpleasant sensation belonging only to a catheter, which even then was diligently at work.

He pressed my ribs and I winced but made no move to fight; it would've been a fruitless endeavor, anyway. "What happened?"

"That's what I want to know." Kuwabara took my wrist in one hand, eyes trained on a wristwatch as his fingers felt for my pulse. "I was on the way home from work when I got a call from _you_."

"What . . .?"

Work; that would explain the equipment. Shortly after entering medical school, Kuwabara shifted his focus from pediatrics to the paramedic field. Both were trained in life-saving care; however, doctors spent much of their time in offices while paramedics rushed to needy people – the front-runners against injury and disease. After observing the unsung heroes of the medical world, my friend grew to admire paramedics deeply, so much so that he altered his entire career path in order to join their ranks.

How had I forgotten he'd officially entered the work force over a month ago?

Halting a gasp as he pressed a stethoscope to my chest, I obeyed his order to breathe regularly, counting the beats of my heart.

"I hadn't heard from you in weeks. Not since – well, you know." He mumbled, helping me sit upright and pressing the device to my back. "So, of course I answered right away." Here he paused, listening intently or collecting his thoughts, I couldn't tell. "At first, all I could hear was you screaming. It was far-off, but I knew it was you."

Here, his hand shifted against my spine, the beginnings of trembling overtaking his normally firm palm. "You wouldn't answer, no matter what I said, so I started running. When the line went silent, it scared the crap out of me." He moved the stethoscope first up, then down, all while counting under his breath. "Did you know you live ten minutes from the hospital where I work?" I shook my head, hair brushing over the roving fingers prodding protruding vertebrae. "Somehow, though, I made it to your place in less than five." A smile crept into his voice. "Never ran so fast before in my life."

Struggling to think back, my memories were fuzzy at best, shrouded in darkness and Yoko's voice. "What happened?" I asked, the room threatening to swallow my voice.

"When I got there, you were going into cardiac arrest." My gaze shifted and I caught his eye even as he continued his inspection, noting his quivering chin and twisted lips. "I, uh, kinda had to kick the door in to get to you." Here he chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don't worry, I'll pay for it–"

"Never mind that." Surprisingly enough, I felt no shame in Kuwabara seeing my current living conditions, an environment birthed from apathy. "Please, continue."

Here he paused, cheek drawing between his teeth. "You weren't breathing." His admission was soft, mournful; a dove's cry. Emotion choked his voice and his professional facade crumbled, leaving devastation in its wake. "You still had a pulse but it was all over the place and–and you _weren't breathing_, man!" He wiped at glistening eyes, one strong arm holding me steady. "I . . . I thought I'd lost you! Just like back then–!"

Yusuke's battered, dead face surfaced but I tucked it away, focusing instead on the man at my back. For some reason, I remained unmoved by this news but then again, death had never bothered me.

Yoko had already died once, anyway.

The IV tugged at my arm as I placed a hand on his shoulder, a hand shaking under its own weight. "I assume you called your coworkers?"

He shook his head, inhaling sharply before helping me lie back down. "No, I couldn't."

Taking a gracious breath, I watched him jot more notes onto the pad, pen child-like in his hand. "Why not?"

Brow knit, he made one last mark before setting the instrument down, granting me his full attention. "Because _he_ was there."

For a time, only the sounds of medical equipment permeated the air, though somehow the silence was not stifling, unlike the quiet permeating my apartment.

Finally, after an ample gathering of himself, Kuwabara continued. "The first thing I saw were the vines on your bed. They were wrapped around your phone, tiny branch-things pressed to the screen and everything. They were all dying – even I could see that." He licked his lips, dragging a hand down his face. "The vines led to your bathroom and that's where I found you; I mean, where I found _him_."

He ground his jaw, glaring at the floor. "You'd almost fully transformed. Everything looked like him: skin, claws, eyes; even his ears were there! The only thing off was the hair – there was still a bit of red there but that's it." He shuddered. "The vines were coming out of his hand – they'd busted right out of his body. That's why your hand's messed up so bad."

I glanced at my right hand and attempted to make a fist to no avail. Though a few fingers moved, the rest remained immobile, though red dotted the white folds. "What did you do?"

"What else could I do? I started CPR." Oxygen sighed from the tank, punctuating his words. "I'm glad I got there when I did because you'd just stopped breathing – any longer and it'd have been too late." He rubbed the end of his nose, a blush tinting both cheeks. "I had to beat on your chest pretty hard and with CPR, you have to use your mouth to, uh, you know." His face darkened to scarlet and he bowed his head. "So, sorry about that."

A chuckle bubbled in my throat, rushing fresh pain through both larynx and chest. "It's fine, Kuwabara."

"Even then it was tricky, had to use a defibrillator to trick your heart into beating like it's supposed to." He patted a small box at his side, one with interconnecting wires. "I always have one with me, just in case."

I smiled, relishing the cold fluid seeping into my veins. ""What then?"

"Well, you changed back while I saved you." Kuwabara paused, running ready fingers through his hair. "I couldn't really watch 'cause I was busy, but it was pretty cool. Before you turned back completely though, he opened his eyes and looked at me. I think he might have even _smiled_!" He sighed, tracing crossed ankles with a finger. "You were naked but I was, uh, kinda glad you were." At my raised brow he continued quickly. "If you had clothes on, I wouldn't have been able to see how bad off you were! And given how bad off you are, I don't think you want me to take you to the hospital?"

Mother's face appeared then and a shudder overtook my body. "No, you judged correctly."

"So I wrapped you in my coat and brought you here. Got a few weird looks on the street but I'm a big guy. People don't mess with me much."

"No, I'm sure they do not." I closed my eyes, exhaustion stealing all mirth.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Opening one eye, I looked at him once again only to come face-to-face with a familiar bottle. "I saw this lying on the counter and brought it too. Given it was full and he almost made it out again, I put some in your IV. Hope that's alright."

"You did well Kuwabara, thank you."

Sweet darkness crept in then, a dreamless sleep promising nothing.

"Thank you." I whispered to the depths, sure he would hear.

A flash of silver and I was gone, swept into the abyss where shadows dwelt.

Honeyed warmth greeted me on the wings of wakefulness, tugging at a sluggish mind.

Yukina sat beside me now, glowing hands pressed to either side of my navel. She appeared otherworldly in the dim light; an angel clothed in yellow with a pale cardigan. Pain I'd grown used to over the past two months disappeared at her touch, and though the sensation was slow in coming, she did not seem to be in a hurry.

"Oh, you're awake!" Her voice caught my attention; however, I couldn't bring myself to return her smile. "Don't worry, Kazuma's in the bath but he will return soon."

I hummed in acquiescence, the IV's dripping dulling her words. "How long was I out?"

"Almost a full day; it's evening again."

Sleep called once again but I banished the thought, focusing once more on her hands.

Her smile dimmed as she followed my line of sight. "Your stomach was digesting itself, and many organs were shutting down." She explained softly, fingernails tracing invisible threads. "Kazuma called the temple last night, asking me to come as quickly as possible. Something was wrong – something he couldn't fix – and he needed my help. So, I left without telling anyone, not even Yusuke."

That's right. Yukina spent much of her time with Genkai now, helping the old master to turn the temple into a halfway house for demons. "I assume Yusuke was assisting Master Genkai?"

"Yes, though he wasn't happy about it." Yukina's lips slipped then, nearly dipping into a frown. "I made it to town but the last train had already left. All I could think of was Kazuma. He sounded so frightened – I've never heard anything like it. I had to reach him but didn't know how."

Her fingers snake a steady path across my belly, skin burning bright in their wake. "What did you do? Surely you didn't walk all the way here?"

She shook her head, a smile once again lighting her face. "No, I didn't have to – Hiei helped me."

Eyes wide, I turned to face her so quickly my vision swam. Shoulders trembling against the bed, I swallowed rising bile, willing my tongue to speak. "What?"

"He surprised me too: just as I was starting off on foot, Hiei appeared, demanding why I was in a human village in the middle of the night." She paused, voice softening further. "He listened without a word when I told him about the phone call, how something was wrong and about Kazuma's panic, how he didn't want anyone other than me here. Hiei brought me without hesitation after that."

Yukina's smile widened marginally as her hands crept to my side, fingers weaving around the feeding tube. "You can imagine our surprise: neither of us were expecting to see you, Kurama, especially not in this state. Kazuma was startled at first but couldn't be angry, not once I explained the situation."

Did she not realize Kuwabara was incapable of anger towards her? Rather than acknowledge this point, however, I focused on the light creeping around the tube and the resulting colors. Red, brown and orange swirled beneath the plastic, churning into my body from an unseen source. Normally, I would demand to know the contents of such a thing but, as matters stood, I had neither the motivation nor energy to care.

"Hiei was very upset."

I raised a brow as her voice wavered, cool fingers curling against my side. "You were sleeping when we arrived. Hiei took one look at you and demanded to speak to Kazuma, alone." Yukina leaned forward, pressing the opposite side with care. "I couldn't hear much of what they said, couldn't leave your side for the longest time. You were so weak, Kurama – we almost lost you twice."

Curiosity deflected her sorrow with little effort. "And yet you heard some of their conversation?"

"Oh!" She blinked, rubbing at drooping lids. "Yes, neither of them were very quiet, especially Kazuma." The admission curled her lips. "Though Hiei raised his voice quite a few times."

Satisfied with the stark rib cage, she moved to my chest, placing both hands inside the imprints of Kuwabara's. "Where is Hiei now?"

"The Spirit World, I think."

"What?" I started as warmth filled my lungs; tissue, blood vessels and Lord knows what else shifting beneath her fingertips.

"Please be still, this is the difficult part." Yukina warned, leaning closer still, brows knit in concentration.

I obeyed without hesitation, allowing the koorime to do with me as she willed. Several minutes passed this way, each breath bringing less pain than the last until, finally, the bruises faded altogether. However, a low rattle still accompanied every inhale, burgeoning a pain deep inside my lungs.

"I'm sorry, but I can't fully heal." Yukina admitted, moving to my throat. "Your body is neither demon nor human; not really, anyway. It's hard to tell where the human parts end and the other begins, or where they've combined to form something else."

"You've done more than enough, Yukina." My voice hummed against her fingers, healing light strengthening my esophagus little by little. "But what of Hiei? Did Koenma summon him?" Had something unthinkable happened at the border between the two worlds?

"No, he went on his own." One hand lifted my head while the other began undoing bandages at my forehead – wrappings I didn't know were there. Yukina sucked in a breath, tracing what I realized were crude stitches. "Glass." She murmured before light radiated from her palms once again, warmth pulling at the edges of the wound. "I think it has something to do with you though."

I blinked, squinting through the glow. "With me?"

A nod. "Your name came up many times last night, as well as the state Kazuma found you in. After they'd talked for a while, Hiei said 'I'll handle it' and left. Kazuma came in muttering Lord Koenma's name; I assume Hiei went to see him."

Of all the foolish–! I bit back a curse, forcing myself to rise. "I must stop him."

"Kurama!" The light disappeared as both of her hands grasped at my shoulders. "Wait, you're not strong enough–!"

"Integration of demonkind into the human world is stalling! Humans do not want us here and believe us to be nothing more than beasts – a doctrine many in Spirit World readily align with." I glared at those small hands, willing my eyes to focus on something, anything. "If war breaks out between the two, whom do you think Spirit World will side with?"

"B-but that's–" Her voice trailed away, slowly losing the battle with self-restraint.

I ground my jaw as the pain gripped my abdomen once again, grunting as I nearly fell on top of her. "Kurama!"

"If Hiei were a neutral party, things would be different. Regardless of the aid he's given the Spirit World, he is a demon. As am I." I rasped, gripping her arms. "I cannot understand what he hopes to accomplish by going there! Why would he _do_ such a thing?"

"Because I asked him too."

Kuwabara stood in the entryway, towel in- hand. Damp curls resting atop his forehead as he wiped at his face with the cloth, eyes never leaving mine. He appeared perfectly comfortable in a white t-shirt and threadbare jogging pants, bare feet covering the distance between us with hardly a sound.

I squinted, trying and failing to clear my vision. "Kuwabara?"

Draping the towel across his shoulders, he lowered himself beside Yukina, gently prying my hands away. "Last time I saw you, you were fine, man; healthy, strong." He said quietly, pushing me back to the mattress with same practiced care. However, steel lined his voice, glinted in his eyes like a sword tip. "Then, two months pass and no one can get in touch with you. Urameshi saw you once; said you looked like a ghost. I didn't want to believe him, but now–"

He clamped his mouth shut, nose wrinkling as he began checking my vitals. "Even though you're a free man, Kurama, you've got a lot of enemies in both Demon and Spirit World. The way you are now, even_ I _could beat you up, no problem. But it wasn't like that before, not until Koenma gave you that order." His gaze met mine, burning with quiet passion. "Tell me I'm wrong."

I winced as fire stabbed my gut once again but remained silent, eyes roving to the ceiling.

"That's what I thought." Kuwabara grunted, pulling his hands away. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell Urameshi – he's no good with stuff like this." He pressed at my stomach experimentally, fingers working from navel to solar plexus, gauging my reaction. "I asked Shorty to tell Koenma you're staying with me until you get better. I don't care if he's the ruler of Spirit World or not – you're not going anywhere until you're back to normal."

I groaned at a particularly sensitive area, squinting to see him. "But Kuwabara–"

"What's the worst he can do, lock me up? Neither Hiei or Urameshi would go for it and I really don't think Koenma wants a showdown with Demon World right now."

He reached into a black bag then, rummaging around before retrieving a syringe full of clear liquid. "Morphine. Don't worry, it's a low dose." He offered at my sharp look, brandishing the instrument. At my nod he administered the medicine through the IV, though due to Yoko's innate sensitivity to such things the effects were almost immediate.

Only when he saw me relax did Kuwabara do the same, asking Yukina to make tea while he checked the bandages on my right arm.

Once she left, however, he settled back down, arms folding across his chest. "Alright, talk to me."

A/N: Hello again and thank you for your patience! This chapter shifted from my original plan and changed the story's plot a bit but hey, happy with how this turned out and hope you guys are too! Sometimes it helps to follow silver-haired plot bunnies.

Thank you for all who have favorited and followed this story, and for everyone's continued readership! Big thanks to WhatWouldValeryDo for beta reading and listening to my crazy ideas – this story would not have happened without you.

So, fox boy had a brush with death but the cavalry has arrived! Is this really the end of Kurama's troubles? And will Koenma abide with Kuwabara's decision? Azumi's up next chapter. Please leave a review and see you soon!


	6. Any Given Sunday

_Insanity – a perfectly rational adjustment to_

_an insane world._

_R. D. Liang_

Any Given Sunday

Sunday arrived with its normal fanfare: unconsciousness encroached by the hum of traffic, alarm blaring in-time with the rain tapping at the window. Early mornings were always difficult during the rainy season – especially Sunday mornings – but the weather would not shake my resolve.

A little rain never hurt anyone.

I sighed, squinting at the luminous numbers. Sure enough, 05:00 stared back, winking with each screech of the clock. Willing heavy fingers to work, I pawed the air until finally my finger hit the right button, tapping twice to dismiss the alarm. Silence engulfed the apartment once more and I settled back beneath the sheets, content with watching the storm.

The sun had yet to peek over the horizon, happy to let the moon have the spotlight a while longer. Still, even now the sky above the city remained fixed in dapper twilight, gray rain clouds mixing with the harsh city lights–

Unlike its celestial superiors, Mushiyori never slept.

A low rumble and the coffee pot began brewing in the kitchen, prepped in advance for mornings like this. Glancing once more out the window, the distant lights of downtown beckoned beyond my pale curtains, faded blue and violet neon lights reaching with greedy fingers. The night walkers would be turning in soon, leaving the clubs, bars and other establishments for their dens. I envied their freedom, their lack of care for social norms:

Their rejection of the light.

Movement beneath the sheets and I smiled, peeking beneath the creamy folds. Toki lay sprawled from my chest to my waist, comforting bulk widening the space between both breasts. This had been our sleeping arrangement since he was a kitten: no matter how I fell asleep, when morning came I always woke with him laying on my chest, ear flush with flesh as if to hear my heartbeat. At first, it was a bonding tool, something to help him feel safe. Now, I wasn't so sure.

Maybe he thought my boobs made good pillows.

One green eye opened as I rubbed his head, purrs vibrating both ribs and clavicle. The coffee pot's chime pulled a yawn from him, black toes stretching before he snuggled back down with a 'humph'.

I smiled, securing him with my hand and slowly sitting up. "Come on, Toki, you know what that means." Neither eye peered up this time though he groaned as my back straightened, causing him to tumble into waiting arms. "Time to get up."

I swear he pouted, ears drooping as he tucked his head beneath my elbow.

"Look, I'll make it up to you tonight, okay?" Lifting him to eye-level, I buried my face into his fur, smile widening at his purr. "We'll go for a walk around the neighborhood, just the two of us – we haven't done that in a while."

Yes, Toki – my fully grown cat – enjoyed going for walks. Though good luck leading him on a leash. No, my boy would have nothing less than strolling at my side, not one step ahead or behind.

We'd discovered this through his many attempts at following me to work.

Rising from the bed, I set him back down before slipping from the room. Toki didn't follow but then again, I didn't expect him to. A cat after my own heart, he preferred to sleep until at least nine every morning, a luxury I'd been unable to enjoy for quite a while.

Not bothering to turn on a lamp, I drifted to the record player, selecting an LP by city-light. Soon enough, Liszt's _I: Adagio sostenuto assai (attacca)_ filled the apartment, strings and enchanting keys guiding my steps to the bathroom. Deep cellos acted as a backdrop to the thunder outside, each instrument doing its part to take my mind far away, to someplace dear–

Anywhere but here.

_II: Au lac de Wallenstadt_ found me on the living room floor, going through morning stretches with care. Starting from the neck and working down, I waited until each muscle group pleaded for relief before moving onto the next, unwilling to show mercy even on a day off. Sweat dotted my brow at the various ab exercises, trickled down my spine as my hamstrings sang with the violins of _III: Allegro moderato (attacca)_, dripped into my eyes while working through flying dogs and other glute stretches. Finally, during the final notes of _IV: Allegro animato_, my body submitted and crashed to the floor with the cymbals, labored breathing filling the apartment as the player's arm returned to it's stand.

Another beep and I sighed, forcing aching limbs into action. Replacing Liszt with a fresh record – a Nat King Cole collection – knowing feet guided me to the kitchen and too soon a black cup of coffee rested in my hands, heady aroma soothing paper-thin nerves.

Two bitter sips and a song later, I wiped perspiration from the floor before stepping into the bathroom once more, turning the shower on full-blast. Though cold showers were best after a workout, I couldn't bring myself to plunge into frigid water. Not out of weakness, though. No, hot showers were best for the mind, steeping me in forgetfulness–

Perfect for Sunday mornings.

Seven o'clock blared from the wall clock as I crept back to my room and turned on the light, hair dryer in-hand. Toki grumped at the intrusion but nothing more; he was used to this by now. Five minutes later dawn found me at my closet, hair a foggy halo about my head. Knowing fingers found today's attire: a pastel blouse, rose blazer and blue cotton pants, each dyed a child's shade:

Each carefully selected for Sunday.

Slipping on white stockings, I dressed with care, making sure no wrinkles emerged before working on my hair. There was no need to look at the photograph beside the clock; I knew its lines perfectly. After a quick brush, I parted my hair before gathering both ends into low ponytails, turning to the mirror in the corner. Springy skin, dark eyes which refused to look at anything head-on, broomstick hair, an outfit from a long-dead department store:

Time had sped back over a decade.

A final beep and I downed the rest of the coffee, thrusting house keys into an outdated bag before hurrying to the genkan.

"I'm going out!" I called, pulling on a polished pair of brown loafers. Of course, Toki didn't answer but it was better to let him know I was leaving than for him to find out on his own.

Three shredded plants had proven that.

A brisk walk and ten minutes later I was on the outbound train, sandwiched between a robust man and a pre-med student. Neither attempted to make conversation so I didn't either, content with clutching the overhead strap and waiting.

Sunday wasn't a day for words, anyway.

Eiichi Sanatorium lay exactly forty-five minutes outside Mushiyori. Once a mountain-side villa for an esteemed family, the property changed hands several times after the Meiji Restoration before finally being bought by Project Eiichi., a rising mental health corporation, in the 80s. Though the turn-of-the-century architecture remained a highlight of the facility, modern pleasures such as tennis courts, a track and volleyball field, swimming pools as well as a sprawling greenhouse had sprouted from the earth, pleasuring young and old alike. The feat cost a small fortune – parts of the mountain having been carved away for lack of space, unheard of for a small country facility – yet somehow Eiichi flourished despite the cost, welcoming more and more patients yearly.

Breathing in crisp air, I took the walk up with care, admiring the hand-carved blue and gray stone steps. One hundred steps to be exact, each multiple of twenty curving away from some rock face or another. The path sported no handrails, no crude metal or cement. Rather, the fortified walk appeared to have sprung from the mountain itself, speckled granite peering up from either side. The facility's veranda was welcoming as ever, aged oak creaking as I made my way inside.

Once a parlor in a bygone era, the reception hall retained the room's original charm. Unpainted walls bordered with plush-cushioned chairs, a blue Persian rug blanketed the floor, guarding against disturbances only noisy feet could make. A chandelier dangled from the ceiling, a dainty thing trimmed with gold and crystal. Soft lavender and Japanese pine perfumed the air, giving the place a scent only old buildings possessed. Collectively, the room held its breath, waiting; though for what, I couldn't tell. An anomaly immune to the passing of time:

Specifically why I chose _this_ place.

Within minutes the receptionist – a woman fresh out of university with a bright smile and doe eyes – had my name in the computer, pointing me toward a refreshment table which held a water cooler and plastic wrapped treats. Bowing, I stepped away from the cumbersome desk and sequestering myself in the nearest chair, glancing at the front door before pulling out a paperback. The story itself was interesting enough – a soldier on the brink of death, spirited to another dimension by a compassionate sprite – but no matter how hard I tried, the words refused to register. Lavender tugged at my brain and before I knew it, rather than the aged soldier I saw the green-eyed man from Black Lotus, gaunt and leaden-eyed.

He hadn't appeared at the cafe in a while, the stranger who shared my affinity for punctuality and routine. At first, I'd sought him out, lingering at Black Lotus when my schedule allowed, scanning the street for fiery hair and a too-loose tie. This only lasted a few days and when he failed to appear, my thoughts drifted to more pressing matters. However, each day his table remained empty, hungry for his books and thoughtless smile–

How could I have forgotten him so easily?

"Ms. Odawara?"

Snapping the book shut, I stood, turning toward the familiar voice. A middle aged man stood in the hall leading to the doctor's offices and examination rooms, holding the door open for me. Black hair flawless as ever, Dr. Fuye smiled, watching with tired eyes as I put the book away.

"It's good to see you. I hope you are well."

The normal exchanging of pleasantries and we were through the door, the fruit of a country founded upon good manners and formalities. More wooden walls greeted us as we traversed down the hall, a welcome exchange from the stereotypical white of most facilities. Oil paintings graced the aged planks every so often, delicate things hanging just above a vase of fresh flowers or some other decoration. The polished oak underfoot refused to give our steps away, absorbing each sound effortlessly as it had done for over a century.

Finally, as we turned into a corridor leading to the cafeteria and exercise rooms, I mustered the question. "How is she?"

The good doctor's face gave nothing away, though his fingers flexed against the clipboard he held. Dr. Fuye's skin had always been darker than mine, something I couldn't understand because he spent most of his time indoors. Still, I welcomed the bronze flipping first one page, then another, face the smile I was all too familiar with now.

"About the same as last week, though the other day was an especially good one."

I returned the gesture, lips curling automatically. "Oh?"

"As you know, she spends most of her time in the greenhouse now, tending to every plant, even those that belong to other patients." Here he chuckled, lines creasing around his mouth. "Her orchids finally bloomed and she wanted to show everyone; it was all she would talk about for three days."

Images of the elegant flowers filtered in, dainty petals stretching this way and that. "I'll have to see them later."

We turned into another hall then, the tell-tale smell of ammonia interrupting soft lavender and hearty pine. The residents of Eiichi were stationed in one of three wards: mild, moderate, and severe. Though some mild cases were treated as outpatients, most were admitted knowing they would never leave. Generally, mild cases worsened to moderate ones before, finally, ending in the severe ward, much like traveling up a one-way street. She'd begun like the other cases, happily abiding in the mild ward before a series of episodes pushed her into the moderate bracket of the sanatorium.

That was when I began pushing back the clock for her.

"She still has her ups and downs, though as you know, the bad days are beginning to outnumber the good."

The statement weighed against my chest, though I didn't allow it to dampen my smile. I knew that; of course I knew – though I couldn't fault him for doing his job. "Does it have to do with her medicine? Do we need to increase the dosage again?"

A negative hum and he shook his head, bangs falling across a graciously portioned forehead. "No, it is not an issue of medication – this is simply the nature of the disease."

I nodded and we drifted into the moderate ward, a shift notable only by the drastic change in the walls and floor, wood replaced by whitewashed concrete and tasteless tile. "What else?"

He cleared his throat, looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Well, she's been requesting to see Mr. Sato–"

"No." All kindness fled, then, face tightening against my will.

The doctor stopped, tapping the pages flipped across the clipboard. "Ms. Odawara, she has every right to see him. After all, he is her–"

"I don't care." I ground out, glaring at his perfectly marked documents, as if everything in the world could fit into their designated boxes. White paper backs stared at me, only concerned with patient confidentiality, though I knew what they hid. A choking diagnosis, one I'd worked to reconcile for years now:

Dissociative amnesia.

"He hasn't tried once, has he? After all this time?" The words sounded venomous to my own ears, though they were delivered quietly, much like leaves are carried on a mountain stream. "So why should I bring him here?"

Dr. Fuye sighed. "I'm merely voicing my patient's request, Ms. Odawara. That's all."

We finished our journey in silence, knowing feet carrying us to the right door. Bleached wood stretched nearly to the ceiling, discolored stripes gripping the top not unlike fingers, begging release. The number 31 marked this door from the others, metal digits surrounded by paper flowers any child could have made.

Only these weren't fashioned from a child's hand.

Taking a breath, I knocked. Three small raps:

Just like every Sunday.

"Come in."

I glanced at Dr. Fuye one last time, hand on the door knob. An assuring smile lit his lips before he motioned to his ear, to call him if he was needed. A needless reminder, but one I accepted with a nod. As he turned to go, I took in another deep breath, willing myself to stay in-character, to play my part–

Not that different from work, actually.

A decisive twist and door lurched forward, dragging me into her world.

I was ten years old when my parents ran away.

Well, to be fair, my father had been lost before then, victim of his own ego. Much like the fabled ghost in the attic, Sato Odawara remained locked in his study day and night, heedless of anything not written by his hand. I learned early on that he would not take care of me, that I had no place in his world, but that honestly didn't bother me because I had _her_. The woman who always cooked my favorite meals on rainy days, who could name any piece of classical music; the one whose feet brushed the floor when she danced, much like an artist creating a fine painting, who could sing to any flower and make it grow:

My mother was my whole world.

After giving up her career to support the dreams of her 'gifted' husband, mom couldn't believe her ears when I told her I wanted to dance at the age of three. That's my earliest memory: waltzing around our kitchen one summer morning, bare feet upon hers, laughing as she squeezed my hands. Chopin played in the background – her favorite composer – and her loose hair tickled my nose, thick strands stretching past her waist. She spun us around and around, heedless of the time until her food began to burn.

To this day, burned bread is my favorite thing to eat.

As soon as I was old enough, mom enrolled me in the local dance academy, scheduling classes every day except Sunday. We fell into a routine, then, one we kept for years. As soon as school ended, mom would pick me up and we'd ride the express train before walking the rest of the way to the academy, a twenty minute commute for a housewife with a young child. Then, she'd watch as I worked with other girls and boys learning various styles of dance, heedless of the class stretching well into evening. Finally, we'd go home, make dinner, and go to bed. A perfect routine, one which went uninterrupted for five years.

Until one night changed everything.

"Azumi?"

I bit my lip and closed the door, forcing my thoughts back to the present. Her room looked the same as it always did. Natural light poured in from the open window, warming the carpet and violet bedspread. Several draperies and paper creations hung from the walls, almost succeeding in hiding the hideous white brick beneath. A shelf took up one corner, filled favorite books, the spots nearest the sun devoted to a few potted plants. An Easter lily grew next to the window, faithful companion to the straight-backed chair facing the mountains.

Mom stood from that chair, brows knit in a frown. Only an inch taller than I, she'd always had a delicate face, one with perfectly set eyes and full lips. Someone had done her hair for her, glorious waves gathered in careful folds at the back of her head, stray strands resting against an elegant neck. While she stared, I was able to admire the kimono she wore, a cotton creation colored pale pink. Posture erect, scarlet obi fastened just so, she appeared ready to break into a traditional dance at any moment–

My eyes fell on her empty right sleeve, shattering the illusion.

"It _is_ you." Her face softened then, squeezing any remaining good feeling from my gut. "What's wrong, darling? You look pale."

"No, I'm fine, mom." I shook my head, smiling for her. We met in the middle of the room, embracing each other like always. I fought to ignore the ghost sleeve beneath my arm, the lump of a shoulder meeting mine through layers of cloth. Acid bit my throat, chasing away the comfort of her touching my hair, my neck, my back. Willing myself to relax, I breathed in her sweet perfume, the unique smell of her shampoo, the lotion she'd used for years:

Still, the phantom arm refused to appear.

She pulled away, taking in my face and hair. Her eyes were surprisingly clear, the most lucid they'd been in a while, her smile the same as always. Maybe today would be a good day, one where we didn't have to play our roles and hide from the elephant in the room–

"How was school today, Zumi?"

And just like that, the kernel of hope shriveled, plummeting like a rock in the sea. "Mom, I'm not in school anymore. I graduated a few years ago, remember?"

I immediately wished I could take the words back because her face fell, hand ducking back to her side as both brows rose. The happiness in those bright eyes faded somewhat, joy giving way to darker things: confusion, anxiety–

Fear.

"It's alright, happens to everyone." I said, voice soft as I led her back to the chair. After a moment's hesitation, I grinned, giving her the best gift I could muster – she'd always said I had her smile. "Let's talk about you. I heard you did something pretty cool the other day."

Her eyes widened and she flashed a grin of her own, delving into the story while I sank onto the edge of her bed. In no time at all, she was lost to her narrative, wrist flinging her hand this way and that animatedly. We'd discovered years ago that, just as I couldn't hold a conversation without touching my hair, mom couldn't talk without using her hands.

The fact that she'd lost her arm years ago hadn't slowed her tongue at all.

So, I listened to her tell me about her flowers, each of which had names. She'd always named plants, even when I was a kid, but after coming here the practice became even more significant to her. Mom chose each name with care, plucking the most obscure, asinine names from literature and assigning each to the plant which best fit the bill. The random names began as a mental exercise, something to keep her thoughts anchored when her mind didn't want to be her friend. However, at some point naming plants had become an elective rather than a game for her, one she took seriously.

She still had fun with it, of course.

"But Benno wouldn't be outdone!" Mom giggled, tutting about her blue orchid, her oldest flower. "Svengali may have beat him in blooming but Benno is still the tallest – don't tell Anais, though."

I smiled for her, watching the stitched flowers breathe against her breasts. When most people think of Japanese women, images of docile, pale girls with slim waists and flat chests come to mind and, while that may be true for some here, such has never been the case for us. Mom and I had the misfortune of inheriting ample bosoms from my Grandma's side of the family. Honestly, that's the only thing I didn't like about my body: at five feet, two inches tall and weighing one hundred and twenty pounds, a thirty-seven inch bust did nothing but earn me stellar nicknames like Chesticles and Rack City.

Thanks, Grandma.

"Zumi, would you do something for me?"

I blinked, tearing my gaze from the soft cloth to smile at her. "Sure mom, anything."

"Will you dance with me?"

Immediately, rot raked across my tongue, rising from some forgotten corner. I coughed, digging in my bag for a lemon drop, a peppermint – anything to keep from looking at her. Mom had no way of knowing I'd given up dancing; even though I'd told her too many times to count, the news only upset her and was wiped from her brain before the week was out, anyway. Though I kept up with lessons for a while after _that night_ for her sake, once we admitted her here, there was no reason to continue:

I'd lost both my mother and my love for dancing.

"Mom, it's–" I bit my lip and sucked on the candy, trying to squeeze out all the flavor at once. "It's been a while since since I've practiced."

She laughed, waving her hand. "Two weeks isn't that long, Azumi, though it must seem that way at your age." My lips curled higher and both hands tightened their grip on my pants, desperately trying to quell rising discomfort.

Mom's eyes traveled to my lap, brows rising as she met my gaze. Staring into her eyes, I saw my nemesis: the shapeless shade gathered around her pupils, the wild, warped beast that had taken my mother away–

I wished I could tear that color away.

A mischievous twinkle lit her eye and she leaned forward, hand cupping her mouth. "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

Her attempt at humor twisted my gut but I laughed anyway, rising alongside her. "All right, mom. What style?"

Rather than answer, she went to the CD player by her bed – a poor replacement for the record player in my living room. Shuffling through various cases in the nightstand drawer, she finally picked one and set it in the dock, shut the lid, and pressed play.

The smile on my face became real and I shook my head at the tune, allowing her to drape her sleeve across my shoulder before placing her hand in mine. Mom took on the male role – she always did – and sent us waltzing around the room in perfect time with Ellmenreich's _Spinning Song_. There was no reason to worry, my body remembered the steps perfectly, so I could focus on her: her rosy cheeks, her smile, her laughter bouncing off the walls as we lost ourselves in song after song. Dancing was the one thing her brain hadn't taken from her, so I couldn't deny her this–

I'd never been able to deny her anything.

Mom had never been the same after the attack.

The hospital personnel didn't believe her story, neither did the police or the media. Then again, I couldn't blame them for that: who would listen objectively to a manic woman with a shell-shocked child, right arm mangled beyond recognition, her daughter drenched from head to toe? Sure, they knew _something_ had happened but didn't believe mom's account, even after the limb was amputated and her mind wasn't clouded by medication. If she'd told them we'd been in a car accident, assaulted by a stranger, or even fell into an inconvenient place in the river, they would have ate that up; but no one wanted to hear the truth–

No one wanted to know monsters were real.

They didn't take my words seriously, though that was to be expected. Kids make stuff up all the time and are easily influenced by their parents. I learned quickly not to talk about it, but that left mom as the sole witness to a story the world was not ready to hear. The police turned deaf ears to her claims, the media treated her as some extravagant joke, and the neighbors began horrible rumors, namely that she'd acquired the injury while trying to run into the arms of another man with me in tow.

All of it was too much for her.

The breakdown happened while I was at school one day in Autumn. Mom had been fine when I left, listening to violin concertos on her record player while moving breakfast dishes to the sink. Dad emerged from his lair somewhere between nine and ten that morning not because he'd heard anything suspicious, but because he was hungry. He found her standing in the middle of the kitchen surrounded by broken plates and bowls, shifting between numbering the shards and staring at her bleeding hand. Of course, he took her to the hospital and the school was notified but by the time I got there, it was too late. Mom had tucked herself deep inside her mind, leaving only a shell behind. She'd found a safe place, a haven where demons didn't exist–

My mom was gone.

"Long day?"

Ebisu's soothing bass pulled me from my thoughts, a slow ascension to say the least. Mom's laughter rang in my ears still as I glanced around the suddenly barren confines of Black Lotus, which had been in the throes of the after-work rush a moment before.

I glanced at the clock above the register, blinking as the numbers came into focus. There was no way:

How had I lost two hours?

Ebisu set a steaming cup before me, coffee char-black with a dab of honey, just like I liked it. "On the house."

For the first time in a long time, I stared at the cafe owner, watched as he wiped down a nearby table. At an even six feet tall, Ebisu could have been a bodyguard or professional fighter in a past life. Meaty misshapen knuckles hidden in the stained cloth, he mopped up spilled tea and bread crumbs without complaint, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to reveal scarred forearms. Shifting muscle struggled against tailored pants, threatening to bust one of the various seams at any moment. His shaved head took attention away from a thick nose that had been broken more than once, pale dome waxed to perfect smoothness. Ebisu had no facial hair to speak of other than a pair of thin eyebrows, which he kept trimmed as meticulously as he did his perfect fingernails. To any passerby, he would appear to be a body builder forced into a host's suit, the victim of a cruel joke:

How did such a man come to own a hole-in-the-wall cafe?

"Want to talk about it?"

I barely heard the soft question. Ebisu remained focused on his work, back to me, offering the option of ignoring the inquisition.

An offer I graciously took him up on. Adjusting the straps on the black number I'd slipped on before coming here, I lifted the steaming cup, allowing the moisture to soak my pores before taking a sip. The coffee burned all the way down, bringing me back to reality in a way nothing else could. "How were things here today?"

He shrugged, an easy lifting of one shoulder. "Same as always. One guy got a little carried away right before you got here but we took care of it."

I smiled, taking another sip. "Sent him packing?"

"Of course." He smirked, eyeing a table near the back, probably where the man in question had been sitting. "I'm running a cafe here, not a brewery. If you want to get drunk, stay home. Can't handle your liquor? Go somewhere else."

Along with countless teas and coffees, Black Lotus sold a limited selection of booze, though not the cheap kind you can get just anywhere. Ebisu sold quality alcohol at stiff rates to dissuade any but those who could handle social drinking from buying, and even then he refused to sell to some customers. I'd never bought any here myself because I didn't drink, something Motaru couldn't understand even when I told him the reason why. The thought of losing control of myself – whether it be to a substance or anything else – terrified me, turned back time to that Sunday night fourteen years ago:

Coincidentally, I'd also never been in a serious relationship.

My eyes traveled to the now-familiar empty table, devoid of both books and that ghost of a smile. That dark shifting in mom's eyes reminded me of the haze clouding his and, once the thought struck earlier, it refused to leave. Dusky vermilion stayed with me as we danced, haunted the train ride back to Mushiyori, spied on me when I changed clothes back at the apartment. No matter what I thought, said or threatened, his apparition stared on, gaze imploring though for what, I didn't know.

Finally, I set the cup back in its saucer, garnering Ebisu's attention. "Do you know anything about the guy who used to sit there?"

He glanced at the table in question, raising a perfect brow. "You're going to have to be a little more specific, Odawara. Lots of people come and go here everyday."

"Trust me, you'll know this one." I shifted in my seat to meet his gaze head-on. "Looks like a foreigner until you get a good look at his face. He's on the tall side, pale, with long red hair that's usually tied back; a bit too thin for the suits he wears. Also, he's got green eyes, like the ones you see on commercials advertising trips to Ireland. He always carries a book with him and never speaks to anyone." The wooden chair creaked as I leaned forward, unable to gauge Ebisu's thoughts for his face never changed. "Know who I'm talking about now?"

Ebisu chuckled then, a sound I'd never heard him make. "My, someone has a good memory." When I didn't respond, he went back to wiping another table, gathering glasses in his big hands. "Yeah, I remember the guy. Haven't seen him in a while though."

I watched him walk to the sink, steps nearly silent against the tile behind the counter. "What's his name?"

Running water and I knew Ebisu would take his time answering me. Finally, after washing eight glasses he called back. "Why? You got business with him?"

Cheek sucked between my teeth, I chewed for a moment, considering. _Did_ I have business with him? Why couldn't I forget about this man and his monster books? Why did his eyes and paper smile find me in the night when we hadn't even met?

For the hundredth time this month, I asked myself what was wrong with me. "Something like that."

The squeaking of a faucet and Ebisu reappeared at the counter, drying his hands with a fresh towel. He held my gaze without blinking, mouth set, never once stopping the towel revolving around his hands.

Finally, those stone-carved lips moved. "He goes by Minamino."

My brow furrowed at that. "Is that his name?"

"Far as I can tell; it's what he places his orders under."

A healthy pause and I nodded, testing the strange name on my tongue. Definitely a surname, though one I'd never heard of. "Mind doing me a favor?"

"Depends on the favor."

I bit back a smile, motioning to the table. "If I leave a note here, will you make sure he gets it? I'll put his name on it."

He wrinkled his too-flat nose. "I'm not a carrier service, Odawara."

"Oh, come on, Ebisu! Just this once?"

It also helped that in all the years we'd known each other, this was the first time I'd asked anything of the big man.

After a moment's contemplation, he sighed, moving onto the next table. "Just leave it there, I'll get it later."

An anxious bubble I didn't know existed dissolved in my chest at this and I immediately dug in my bag for pen and paper, items I'd learned long ago to never be without. The words came easily enough, effortless lines fueled by glazed green eyes and those strange books.

Finally, I downed the last of the coffee, folded the paper and penned his name on the back, careful with the odd character combination. Tucking the corner beneath the saucer, I stood with my bag, pushing the chair back under. "Need me to do anything?"

"Don't be stupid. This is my place, not yours."

Though the words were gruff, I heard the tiny bit of warmth underlying them, a warmth I only knew existing after knowing him for so long. "All right, I'm off then. Good night, Ebisu."

"Night, Odawara."

His words lightened my steps as I let the night take me.

A/N: Hello and welcome! Thank you for those who have followed, favorited and reviewed! I read them all and they always bring me joy.

Also, thank you WhatWouldValeryDo for beta-reading!

So, we got a more personal look at Azumi as well as her state of mind. Kurama's up next chapter, see you then!


	7. How to Save a Life

_It is not the gift,_

_but the thought that counts._

– _Henry Van Dyke_

How to Save a Life

The time spent with the Kuwabaras marked the most humiliating period of my life.

During the first week, I remained unable to do anything on my own. I lacked the strength to sit up, or even converse for extended periods of time. Nourishment came through various tubes, and my body demanded far more sleep than it should. Reading remained out of the question for I could not hold a book. Even something as simple as looking out the window eluded me because my legs would not carry me more than two steps from the bed.

Kuwabara's presence remained constant that week. I quickly grew accustomed to the feel of my friend's hands upon me, checking my pulse, eyes, and tongue. From time to time, he would press at seemingly random areas or pinch my flesh, noting every detail on his clipboard. He never panicked at what he saw, nor did he express his personal feelings on the matter. Rather, he filled the air with idle chatter, talking about everything from his job to his love for Yukina. My inability to respond at times did nothing to stifle his cheer or steady voice, the sound soothing both during examinations and when there was nothing better to do. Kuwabara did everything in his power to assure I was not alone in this–

Somehow, he knew his presence was enough to set me at-ease.

Yukina remained by my side whenever work called Kuwabara away, ever willing to offer what comfort she could, though she could do precious little against prolonged malnutrition. I could not count the number of times she brushed my hair, working through tangles with a thick-toothed comb, extracting withered seeds with utmost care. She also read to me, soft voice narrating various works I could not enjoy on my own. When the pain was at its worst, she'd trace gentle lines across my arm and shoulder, much like mother did when I was a child. We spent several hours this way and Kuwabara came home more than once to find us engrossed in a book, Yukina stroking my hair or skin.

Passages on snow-capped lands were my favorite, for they brought the most feeling to her voice. A peculiar light lit Yukina's eye when she described expanses of arctic wastes or tumultuous tundras, following the daily lives of snow foxes, penguins and polar bears. Fingers tracing each word, her voice gained a level of excitement it normally lacked; her smile somehow grew warmer as well. She even enjoyed fictitious works set in these places, whether they followed Kawabata's tragic geisha or Lovecraft's hero descending the icy depths in search of the legendary Cthulhu. In those cold lands, she never shrank from the darkness of humanity, nor appeared overly concerned about whether the guilty paid for their crimes.

She was much too taken by the snow.

The first week also seared itself into my brain with the introduction of sponge baths, carried out once daily. Don't misunderstand, I was familiar with the practice – I'd helped mother bathe when she could not do so during her illness – but such a thing had never been done to _me_. Kuwabara's smile never wavered when he carried out the task, false gaiety unperturbed by cold glances and muted lips. Even Yoko rallied alongside the human, stringent hygiene habits and self-preservation momentarily overriding his animosity. Still, I found myself unable to thank my friend when the sponge ran across my skin, picking up sweat and who knows what else.

Actual bathing came during the second week.

"Easy." Kuwabara breathed, grip on my side and arm sure as we made our way to the bathroom. Ordinarily a short trip, shambling steps and weak knees proved to be my undoing, stretching the trek to a preposterous length. "Almost there, just relax."

My lungs refused to obey, breath coming in fits and starts. Both legs quivered, goose flesh dotting thighs and bare buttocks. After deciding clothes were unnecessary since they would be removed anyway, Kuwabara joined me in my nakedness, no doubt to save me further embarrassment. Yukina made herself scarce during those times, though I knew she remained within earshot – she would never leave a friend in this condition.

When I determined sponge baths were insufficient, Kuwabara suggested acquiring a wheelchair from work, something I discouraged for multiple reasons. First, while he could claim the equipment necessary in case of an emergency, there was no logical reason for a paramedic to have a wheelchair when not on the clock – not when every member of his household was known to be healthy. Secondly, the halls here were narrow, too narrow for either of us to wheel about the flimsy thing. Ultimately, though, neither I nor my companion wanted to subject ourselves to such humiliation.

Better the human help us than to be reminded of my folly by a cloth chair.

Kuwabara quickly discovered there wasn't enough room for both us and the bathing stool so he removed the latter, content with holding me under the shower head. Often the weight of damp hair and slick limbs sapped what strength I'd reserved and, if not for my friend, I would have fallen against the tile. However, Kuwabara never let go, even when bitter curses seeped from my mouth. He allowed me to sit on the floor while he washed my hair, big body taking the brunt of the water, fingers gently lathering dull tresses.

"No creepy plants are gonna pop out and eat me, right?" He joked, nipple inches from my nose.

A dry chuckle, almost too low to hear. "So long as you don't pull, no."

By the time he finished with my hair, I'd recovered enough to stand. However, this was the extent of my second wind – I couldn't even bathe myself. Kuwabara took on the task without hesitation; we were far past the point of caring about embarrassment or personal space. Cold tile bit my skin as he scrubbed with a sud-soaked rag, fingernails digging into the filament while he bathed my legs and abdomen, heat somehow seeping into my bones when frothy white coated my most intimate places:

Needless to say, we became well-acquainted with one another's bodies during that time.

"Sure you're up to this?"

I nearly succeeded in stopping the sigh from slipping forth, glancing toward the shared bedroom. Kuwabara leaned through the threshold, weight supported by a sure grip on the trim overhead. Dressed in a simple black T-shirt and denim, he fought valiantly to exert indifference – confidence, even – though I saw the traces of worry lining his face, signs few would know to look for: the slight furrowing of his brow, nostrils flared as he struggled to regulate his breathing; three lines crept from the corners of his eyes, lines he'd developed too soon during our time as spirit detectives. Hollow cheeks darkened by a set jaw, mouth set somewhere between a frown and a smile.

After spending nearly a month in his care, I was sure of one thing – Kazuma Kuwabara would always be the kind, soft-hearted boy I met all those years ago.

"Yes." Somehow, my hands remained sure in buttoning the pale shirt, a loan made for a frame much bigger than my own. "I cannot put it off any longer."

His lips did slip into a frown then, watching as I tucked the shirt into a pair of black slacks. I could not blame him for doubting me. Though my skin no longer hinted at death and my limbs had filled out somewhat, I remained underweight, despite his and Yukina's best efforts. The fact that I now wore his clothes only added to my enfeebled appearance. Eating no longer proved itself a chore and, though apathy lingered and I still fought against self-doubt, the desire for death had passed. However, I could not blame him for his skepticism.

After all, I'd willingly done all of this to myself.

"Sure you don't want me to go with you?"

"To what end? Koenma wishes to see me personally – he's come all the way from Spirit World to do so."

For the young Prince to insist on a meeting here was unusual and the implications settled in my gut, a solid weight which refused to dissipate. Anxiety hummed through my veins and only years of tutelage from Yoko kept the emotion from creeping into my face or tainting my voice with something horrid. Koenma wished to discuss things on my terms, in a place familiar, where he had no visible power or authority:

What on earth could that mean?

"Hey."

I turned at the genkan step, caught in the act of pulling on shoes, simple white articles purchased during my stay. Thoughts flew across Kuwabara's face like so many fireflies, numerous and far too fast to catch. However, when he spoke, his tone carried a slight lilt, a smile crinkling the sides of his mouth. "Don't overthink it, okay?"

Such simple words, advice from a mind that knew my own so well. I nodded, returning his smile before letting myself out of the house.

The sun shone gloriously high above, lighting a world I hadn't set foot into for several weeks. Birds sang amid trees sighing in the breeze, their creaking calls beseeching, knowing full well I could hear. Dead leaves crunched underfoot and I took to the sidewalk, hands diving into ready pockets. I slipped from the side street onto the main thoroughfare, seamlessly becoming one in a sea of faces. This part of town had long since seen its hay-day – remnants of the industrial boom of the 70s. Still, the neighborhood businesses did well enough and, for the dull-clad commuters who could not find work here, the city's heart awaited with open arms.

An itching at my neck and I fought the urge to raise my head, knowing I would find nothing there. Neither Hiei nor Yusuke appeared during this past month, though Kuwabara had assured me they wouldn't. How my former partner convinced Koenma to agree to my staying with the human still baffled me, especially given the current relations between Human and Demon World. Despite my hosts' best efforts, I still expected the SDF to appear at any moment, ready to throw us into Spirit World's prison.

Despite our allegiance with two demon lords, the Prince maintained the right to do such.

'_What do you plan to do?_'

After assuring my phone was on silent, I lifted it to my ear, voice low. "That depends entirely upon Koenma."

During my stay, Kuwabara held onto this device, keeping both mother and my father-in-law at bay. At first, he maintained we were spending my vacation together, catching up after a prolonged separation. Then, when the time came to return to work, he asked for more time off on my behalf, claiming he needed my help with medical research pertaining to natural remedies. Of course, Kazuya hesitated at first, not relenting until I talked with him personally, acquitting my tired tone with having just surfaced from the pages of a book. He'd allowed me three more weeks of vacation, all the time-off I'd accumulated since beginning work for the firm.

An impossible feat had I not been his son.

'_You need to call her._'

Mother's face flashed before my eyes and I sighed, tucking it away in my heart. "Later."

He fell silent, then, waiting as I slid around first one pedestrian, then another. '_What do you make of his meeting us here?_'

"I don't like it." I sighed, ducking further into my shoulders, hair nearly concealing my face from curious passers-by. "What do you think? Do you have experience with this sort of thing?"

He hummed and flicked his tail, phantom fur tickling my thighs. '_Yes, though I'm not sure what the child hopes to accomplish._'

I waited as he ran clawed fingers against his face, brushing the flesh at my cheek.

'_When I set a meeting in another's territory, it was for one of two reasons._' He allowed slowly, mindful of my crossing a busy street, city noise increasing with each step. '_Either to set the fool at ease and lull him into a false sense of security, or–_'

Here he stopped, as if struck by a violent force. I waited for him to continue but he kept his peace, I don't know that he even breathed.

Then, before I could question him further, he smiled, the motion ghosting my lips. '_Because I knew my adversary was not to be trifled with._'

I bit back a chuckle but he laughed anyway, the bell-like sound filling my ears.

Before long, we arrived at the designated meeting place – a nondescript cafe beside a musty antique shop. Ordering a plain coffee, I smiled at the blushing barista before taking a seat in the back of the room facing the door. The place lacked personality or charm, milky tile inviting muck while whining lounge music played, a tea cup mural the white wall's only decoration. Small square tables and chairs littered the floor, none of which appeared particularly stable, seating sour-faced people who wished to be anywhere but here.

Setting down the cup carefully, I pulled at my sleeve, checking the time. Another thirty minutes until the appointed meeting, the minutes stretching forth like languid, yawning things. I knew Koenma wouldn't arrive until it was absolutely necessary and I used the time to my advantage, collecting myself, ready for whatever may ensue. He would not make a scene in public – young as he was, Koenma knew enough to care for his image – though that did not mean I wouldn't be apprehended once the meeting adjourned. Propping my chin in my hand, I watched the door, preparing for every possible scenario. Hopefully, we would talk and that would be the end of it. However, if Spirit World attempted to take me by force, I was prepared to fight.

The itch at my neck persisted, adding a modicum of comfort.

The bell sounded above the cafe's door at exactly nine. Spirit World's prince stood proudly despite the tan overcoat hiding his robes, the ever-present mafukan clenched between his teeth. Seeing the ruler in his human form was surprising, though he would not do well here under a childish facade.

He'd announced the existence of demons in his other form, anyway.

Gaze lighting upon me, he made his way to the table, an inscrutable expression on his face. Sitting with his back to the other patrons, he waved the approaching waitress away, hiding his mouth behind clasped hands. The woman's smile faltered momentarily and I dipped my head toward her, ordering a tea for my 'friend'. She nodded, lips curling even as she turned to fill the order.

Koenma continued to watch me even as the steaming drink was placed by his arm, both elbows atop the table as if he didn't know the first thing about manners. Only after the waitress left did our game truly begin, his glare never relaxing even while I drank from my own cup, face fixed into the practiced calm I'd learned from years as a caregiver. Emotion had no place when his gaze roved to the too-big clothes and abnormally pale skin, my slim face and thin limbs, despite a month's sustenance.

Then, he sighed, straightening his stooped posture. "So, Hiei wasn't lying."

The statement was quiet, meant for his edification, though that meant nothing to me. "You expected him to?"

"No, it's just – you look better than I thought you would."

I raised a brow and he shook his head, lifting the tea to his lips. After taking a gracious sip, he swallowed, staring at me over the cup's rim. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. No one believed things would come to this, that you'd–" Here he stopped, suddenly finding the green liquid fascinating. "I don't think I've ever seen Hiei so angry."

"Yukina mentioned he was upset." The sensation at the nape of my neck intensified and I bit back a chuckle, placing a fist to my mouth until the mirth passed. "We did not come here to talk about him, though."

"No, we did not." Clucking his tongue, Koenma tightened his hold on the mafukan, setting the cup aside. He apparently needed time to sort through this blunder, time I was more than willing to give. Yoko's patience waned with each passing second though I urged him to be understanding–

We had the entire day to deal with this.

Steepling his hands, the young ruler leaned forward, tone all at once hushed. "Tell me what happened."

So I did. The cafe's breakfast rush ebbed and waned during the telling but my voice remained just over a whisper, trusting Koenma to hear. He listened without a word, gaze narrowing as I described foreign sensations and all-too-familiar occurrences. Though this recounting lacked the details given to Kuwabara, when a flicker of emotion flashed across his face I pressed the point, satisfied at the pain portrayed solely for my eyes.

Yoko's approval of the practice made me strive that much more.

"I don't understand." Koenma admitted once I'd finished, staring at his clasped hands. "Foxes are solitary by nature – this shouldn't have effected you so deeply."

The porcelain mask remained, though something utterly cold crept in as I tilted my head. "You forget that I'm human as much as demon." A short gasp as he met my gaze, eyes widening ever so slightly at whatever he found there. "After all these years spent observing mankind, surely you realize the toll forced isolation can exact on a human soul?"

He knew better than to argue contact hadn't been prohibited with my family, not with the marriage being so new.

Many had perished for bringing mother up in politer conversation.

Koenma sighed, straightening. "What would you like to happen?"

"Ideally? For this entire matter to be done with. Though given the state of relations between the three worlds that's not an option."

He waited patiently as I took a sip of cold coffee, ever the diplomat. Several demands ran through my mind though I settled on the three most rational, setting the cup down. "First, Kuwabara is not to be harmed. I had no hand in calling for him, though had he not come, I would have perished – he should not be punished for such."

"Of course not!" Koenma shook his head, eyes softening to moistened honey. "Punishing him never crossed my–"

"Second," My voice overrode his, something I'm sure he was unused to. "I want the communication restrictions officially lifted between Kuwabara and I." Here he stiffened, gaze darkening. "Aside from his relationship with Yukina, he has kept limited contact with demons and has never meddled in the affairs of Demon World. In fact, aside from the Dark Tournament viewers, few know of Kazuma Kuwabara's existence."

A sad – but true – fact. Outside of our group, only a handful of demons knew of Kuwabara's involvement in shattering the wall between worlds, and each of them were loyal friends. None but us knew the extent of his power, a power he would use without hesitation to protect those he loved.

Sucking the mafukan back between his teeth, he raised a brow, a comical gesture seeing as how both eyes remained lidded. "Why?"

"As I said, humans aren't meant to be alone. Surely you can see that?" Crossing my arms, I tucked my chin, brow furrowed in challenge. "Or would you rather I involve an outsider?"

"So long as they don't find out about any of this, I don't care what you do – I have more important things to do than babysit you." The barb missed its mark, only succeeding in revealing his agitation.

"Third, I'd like the communications ban lifted in case of an emergency."

Koenma quickly schooled his face with an air of nobility before tipping his chin, gaze narrowing once more. "Such as?"

Shaking my head, I smiled, happy that scarlet locks hid my face. "He's becoming more difficult to contain." The Prince's cheeks paled at my honesty, for the moment forgetting his self-imposed superiority. "He is . . . restless, angry. And, what's more," Here I leveled him with a look, glaring through my bangs. "He blames Spirit World for everything that's happened."

A momentary silence and Koenma cleared his throat, though he could not convince the blood to return to his face. "Surely he knows better than–"

"What he does and does not know I cannot say, he doesn't tell me everything." I settled back in the chair, aware of Yoko's bristling at the condescending tone. "Though I will say if he reemerges, you are likely whom he will come after and I am not sure your forces are enough to stop him – he is far stronger now than when he entered this body. Also," The wood creaked beneath me, a smooth sound not unlike ancient branches caressed by the wind. "I cannot say for certain whether or not Yusuke and the others would be willing to kill him, not knowing I'm trapped inside this body."

He stiffened, eyes narrowing further. "Is that a threat?"

"No, simply a fact. If and when he emerges, I will have no say in what he does." Leveling him with a look, I observed his discomfort as Yoko laughed, a truly malicious sound. "In case this occurs, I need to be able to contact the others without their being punished. Surely this is a reasonable request?"

Koenma pondered a moment, staring intently at his woven fingers. Then, "How long has it been like this?"

Of all the things I thought he would ask, that was not one of them. Also, I did not expect his voice to sound so small, nor for him to age drastically with that one statement. Shoulders sagging, face lined with concentration, he appeared every bit his years in that moment. Were he anyone else I might have felt an ounce of pity for him.

However, such was not the case. "Nearly my entire life, though his attempts at reemergence have doubled recently. I'm sure you can guess why."

Koenma sighed, sinking further into his shoulders before becoming lost in thought. I allowed him that luxury, handling the waitress kindly when she made her rounds before sending her off with a smile. Spirit World's ruler remained that way for ten minutes or so, though I could not fault him for taking his time with such a decision. One of the hardest parts of leadership was deciding when and when not to make exceptions to established rules and precepts, for either could lead to rebellion.

I'd learned as much from my companion.

"Very well."

Koenma roused himself from his trance-like state, his voice coming as if from a deep well. Rolling both shoulders back, he leveled me with a look, as if trying to crawl into the depths of my soul. "Though you'll both still be under strict observation, I have no objection to you and Kuwabara maintaining regular contact. Also, if you feel you're about to lose control or some other extreme occurs, you may contact Yusuke and Hiei more than once a month. However," Here he stopped, gaze darkening. "If you do anything to endanger the integration of demons here, or if I think you're abusing these privileges in any way, you will be taken into custody immediately. Do I make myself clear?"

For the second time, I found myself biting back a chuckle. How quickly he forgot Yusuke was now a lord in Demon World, and that Hiei and myself were tied to two other lords. If Spirit World did anything rash – namely falsely imprison Yomi's chief adviser – they would not stand idly by.

"Perfectly."

'_**You're growing soft**_.'

A gentle huff of air and I shook my head, waiting for the crosswalk signal. Pulling a small book from my pocket – a random volume borrowed from Kuwabara – I pretended to lose myself in the pages, lips moving as though tracing beloved print. "No, brutality simply was not needed."

He waited for me to cross the street, allowing me to observe hesitant cars and hurried footmen beyond the paper folds, a perfectly sketched skull resting beneath my thumb. The familiar itching at my neck vanished as soon as Koenma left, though there was no reason for my friend to watch further.

I needed to thank Hiei later.

"For the time being, we need him. Though inept for one so old, I would much rather deal with him than his father. Wouldn't you agree?"

Yoko maintained his silence, though we both knew the answer. That my companion held no love for Spirit World's former ruler was no secret, and if by some misfortune Koenma were to fall, who else could take his place but the disgraced King Enma?

Surely his return would destroy the progress made these past few years.

'_What will you do now?_'

Another sigh before a cry reached my ears, followed closely by a blur of blue and black. Driven by reflex and a hint from my peripheral, I dropped to one knee and lunged, fingers barely finding purchase in a child's shirt before she fell into the traffic-choked street. Several gasps sounded as the girl fell back into my arms, pedestrians giving us a wide berth while the knit cap slid from her head.

The hushed hubbub faded once she glanced up at me, dewy eyes wide, hand still stretching for the street. Shifting my attention from the too-young face, I saw what she reached for so desperately: a red balloon lost to the throes of passing traffic, somehow avoiding car after car before rising to kiss the buildings above. Bobbed hair sticking to flushed cheeks, perspiration trickling down her face, though I saw no blood, bruises or scrapes whatsoever–

She was perfectly fine.

"Emiko!"

The crowd parted for a young woman only just shorter than Shizuru, flowing hair caught in a loose ponytail. Her gray coat matched her eyes perfectly, eyes frantically scanning the space before her until they lighted on us. Breath hitching in her throat, she dropped her grocery bag before darting across the pavement, scooping the girl from my lap. Doubtlessly sensing her mother's distress, Emiko soon devolved into tears, burying her face in the woman's shoulder.

I stood as she ensured the girl was unharmed, forcing a small smile while she bowed deeply and apologized, never losing hold of her daughter. Bowing in turn, I watched as she did an about-face and walked away, little Emiko lifting her head for one last glance before both blended with the pedestrian flow once more.

Yoko made no comment on the scene, though I could not quite tell how he felt about it. "I must return home soon." I whispered, bending to retrieve my fallen book. "We cannot rely on Kuwabara's hospitality forever, and I cannot put off work much longer."

He snorted, though my companion had never thought much of my current occupation.

"However, for the time being," Brushing off the cover, I slipped the book back into my pocket, gaze centered on a familiar scene some twenty feet away. "I would like something warm to drink."

The morning rush having already gone, Black Lotus appeared empty save for two employees: an apron-clad waitress busting tables and a sleepy-looking boy behind the counter. I recognized both immediately though I couldn't place their names. Management here did not believe in forcing workers to wear name tags and, after witnessing a barista harassed by a handful of office workers one afternoon, I could not argue with the decision.

After a moment of watching the two unnoticed, I cleared my throat, mildly amused as the boy jerked around to face me, a wild blush tinting his cheeks. "W-welcome to Black Lotus!" Had he really not heard the bell over the door? "How can I help you?"

I offered him a smile, one perfected from years of use. However, before I could answer him, a smooth bass filled the air. "I'll take this one, Retsu. It's time for your break, anyway."

The boy and I both stiffened, neither of us having heard him come in from the back. The owner of Black Lotus, Ebisu Higashi struck an impressive figure, easily surpassing many demons I knew in terms of physical prowess. Though Kuwabara would no doubt surpass the older man's height, my friend had no hope of attaining the scars dotting Ebisu's person, or matching the chilling aura brought by his mere presence.

I didn't need Yoko's experience to fear the power behind that easy-going facade.

Retsu hurried away after giving a short bow, fumbling fingers loosing his apron to hang on a hook before departing.

Ebisu shook his head, staring after the boy. "Good kid, though he gets sloppy when he's tired. Don't want him messing up your order." I blinked, unsure of why my order should be so important that he'd see to it personally. "What'll it be, Minamino? The usual?"

My brows rose before I could school my face into a pleasant mask. Today was just full of surprises. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

"Not officially, but I try to learn my regular's names. Makes for better business."

This made sense. I knew Ebisu's name only because of the tag on his vest lapel – he was the only one in the establishment who wore one.

Before I could respond, he turned, grabbing a tall cup from the rack against the wall. "Alright, one green tea with ginger and milk, coming right up!"

For once, I was glad someone purposefully put their back to me. I could not fathom the look on my face, though if Yoko's mirth was any indication it was quite humorous. He'd known what drink I wanted before it left my tongue: a simple concoction, yet not a combination those my age often chose.

Just who was this man?

I paid and took the ceramic cup, feet carrying me to the usual table at the back. For the moment, I put Ebisu out of my mind. Such knowings weren't strange when one owned a business, not really. Perhaps other entrepreneurs served their customers regularly and I simply wasn't aware of it. Content with my findings, I settled back with Kuwabara's book and my tea, ready to lose myself to the pages:

Until I saw the note.

The paper lay on the saucer, a simple folded thing no doubt hidden by the cup until now. Center slightly moistened by the warm container, my mind took its time processing the characters written in an unknown hand, ink smudged ever so slightly.

_Minamino_.

Yoko's curiosity peaked alongside mine as I picked it up, setting the cup down before carefully unfolding the note. Flattening the heavily creased paper atop the table, I leaned forward, reading the message with care:

_If you are not to become a monster,_

_you must care what they think._

Mouth suddenly dry, I swallowed, taking a careful sip of tea. A slight burning in my chest and I realized I'd stopped breathing. Weeks-old phantoms came forth to haunt me: discolored takeout boxes strewn across the floor, bed sheets torn with clawed hands; nameless shadows creeping up the walls, shattered glass falling into the sink, taking away a golden-eyed stare. Spirit World's decree, Yusuke's threatening messages; Kuwabara's broad back to me on a plain somewhere between this world and the next. Monster, a silver-haired monster–

_You understand, don't you?_

I sighed as Koenma's voice rose and fell, wiping at my face with a napkin from the tabletop dispenser. Caring overly for what people thought got me into this mess. If I didn't care to stay in Spirit World's good graces, I would not have subjected myself to forced isolation. Yoko would have made no move to emerge, and my mental state would not have evaporated so quickly. If not for them–

'_Read._'

Yoko's cool voice interrupted my thoughts, grinding the remembrance of near-death to a halt. Taking another sip of tea, I allowed myself a steadying breath before continuing:

_If you care what they think, _

_how will you not hate them,_

_and so become a monster_

_of the opposite kind? _

Mind reeling, I read the lines twice more, flipping the page over to be sure no writing remained unseen. But no, there were only those six lines, written both in Japanese and perfect English side-by-side. Raising the cup to my lips once more, I mulled over the words, a riddle I couldn't quite make out. Two different monsters – two sides of the same coin.

What on earth could it all mean?

My companion didn't know, either; mulling over each word just as I had, looking for a pattern, a code, anything. Though all that remained was the warning, as well as a question. Who would pen such a thing and, what's more, why would they leave it for _me_?

'_Someone has been watching us_.'

Instinctively, I glanced about the room with lidded eyes, taking care to make the motion appear nonchalant. However, the only ones in the cafe were the waitress washing dishes in the great sink and Ebisu, who stood polishing glasses far too elegant for this establishment. I knew Hiei had kept a watchful eye during my illness, though this was the first time in over a month I'd ventured outside. No, whoever the writer was had watched me well before I collapsed in my apartment–

And we'd both been completely unaware of it.

Downing the rest of the tepid tea, I slipped the note in my pocket before pressing a tip to the table, walking to the counter with practiced ease. Ebisu lifted the aged coffee makers' lids, checking each in turn before nodding to himself, one hand nestled in the half-apron at his waist. I waited as he wiped the faucet of the cappuccino machine and refilled the sugar bowl, dainty cubes threatening to spill from the crystal dish at any moment.

Finally, he appeared to notice me for he straightened, wiping stray specks of sugar on the black apron. "Ah, was there something else you needed, Mr. Minamino?"

"Yes, actually." Already I had the note in-hand and placed it on the counter, gaze never leaving his face. "I found this with my drink."

Retrieving a slender pair of glasses from his shirt pocket, Ebisu stared at the words through lilac-tinted lenses, raising a brow. "It's addressed to you."

"Yes, I'm aware of that." Yoko bristled beneath my skin but I pleaded patience, demanding such from myself as well. "Could you tell me who wrote it? Surely you must know something."

His demeanor didn't change in the slightest beneath my gaze, though I caught the faintest glimpse of curiosity light his eyes. "You mean you don't know?"

"No but I would like to very much." I lowered my voice a hairsbreadth and smiled, as though I were letting him in on some secret. "Whomever it is leaves quite an impression."

For a moment, I feared I'd overplayed my hand and he would not answer. Ebisu stared without blinking for several seconds, only his breath signaling he was indeed flesh and bone. Then, he sighed, removing the glasses to rub at his eyes, all while mumbling about not being a "carrier service".

He continued before I could question this, however. "Another regular – Odawara."

Odawara. I ran the name across my tongue and wracked my brain, though nothing immediately came to mind. Yoko did not recognize the name either.

"Look, if you're wondering about this, why not ask her yourself?"

Her – a woman. I did not know how to react to a woman watching me unawares though the thought caught my companion's interest. I'd thought surely an adversary waited in the wings but if Ebisu knew her, that meant regardless of who Odawara may be she was, above all, human.

The realization eased the knot in my chest. "How can I reach her? Should I leave a note as well, or–"

He held up a meaty hand, as if to dissuade me from some mundane quest. "Don't. I'm not gonna be your messenger pigeon." I waited as he wiped at the glasses lens, folding both arms before setting the accessory safely back into his pocket. "She's usually at open mic here every Thursday night. You should try then."

Ticking off days mentally, it took far longer than it should to realize today was Wednesday. "What time?"

"We officially start at seven, but people come whenever so it doesn't matter." He rolled his head atop his shoulders, neck popping with a loud 'crack'. "Odawara is usually here before seven, though."

My smile was genuine this time when I thanked him and bowed, making sure to leave a few bills on the counter.

'_You have an admirer_.'

"So it would seem." I sighed, pretending to lose myself in the book once more on the walk back to the Kuwabaras. "At least this does not appear to be an enemy."

'_We cannot know that for sure_.'

Nodding, I turned down first one street, then another, pleased that the sidewalk was noticeably empty this time of day. "If she is an enemy, I will handle her accordingly."

He hummed, claws tracing the skin at my temples. '_Why not let me? I haven't played in ever so long._'

"Could you control yourself?"

'_Don't I always?'_

Kuwabara's house came into view and I slowed my steps, considering his offer. "Very well. If we deem her a threat, you may handle this as you deem fit."

He smiled, a sensation powerful enough to curl my lips. '_Perfect_.'

**A/N: Hello and welcome back! Thank you for your patience while awaiting this update; Inktober took up much of my writing last month and now I'm playing catch-up. Thank you for those who follow, favorite and review my work! You support means so much.**

** Big thank you to WhatWouldValeryDo for beta-reading and being my sounding board for this story! You're the best!**

** Poem from this chapter is 'Enemies' by Wendell.**

** Okay, so a mostly-well Kurama saved a kid and met Ebisu but what's up with the note? And he gave Yoko free-reign if they deem Azumi a threat? Back to Azumi next chapter, please leave a review!**


	8. Waiting

_Patience is not simply the ability to _

_wait – it's how we behave while we're_

_waiting._

– _Joyce Meyer_

Waiting

The fight unfurled effortlessly, poetry in motion, something magical that would disappear as soon as I closed my eyes. Sliding back on sure feet, the big man watched his opponent approach, smile sure, ready. Gelled hair already damp with sweat, the boy faked a lunge before pivoting to the side, firing three jabs with a boxer's grace. The giant was ready though, catching two of the blows before redirecting the last, a punch of his own aimed at that slick head.

"Are we going to do this, or what?"

I bit back a smile, making quick work of removing my other shoe. Tatsuo stood on the mat already, bare feet abnormally pale against the blue rubber. Donned in light sweats and a t-shirt, his stature and strange hair made quite a statement among the other patrons, salted locks twisted in a braid running between his shoulders. Slender arms corded with muscle crossed over a barrel chest, he raised a brow as I fished transparent ear buds from my pocket, plugging them into my phone.

"You're not going to have music in a real fight."

"Good thing this is just practice, then."

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped, sighing. Symphonic notes filled my ears and I was ready, slipping the device into a back pocket. I could still hear everything around us perfectly well but Tatsuo didn't need to know:

What better way to catch an enemy off-guard than feigned ignorance?

Pounding drums came next and I was moving, sinking into a ready stance, stalking my opponent. Tatsuo moved too, arms at his side, though I knew better than to take him lightly – countless matches proved him faster than me. He watched without presumption or pride, nonplussed at our height difference.

The electric guitars entered their gallop and the dance began in earnest, strikes flying at his face, chest, and stomach. His arms moved, then, deflecting a punch, a palm strike, cross-block catching my heel before sending me backwards. Ever the teacher, he allowed me to attack however I pleased, never demanding I stick with one style or fight fair.

A few minutes in, though, I landed a blow to his mouth. Years ago, blood welling from a split lip would have stopped me but not now. No, the sight made me bold, urging me to target vital areas, lethal if hit just right. Tatsuo noticed the change for his gaze darkened, body shifting into a stance of his own.

He began to fight back.

Our match didn't last long after that. Thankfully, the gym was mostly empty – only a handful of peers witnessed his complete victory. A Latin chorus overrode metal chords as he struck my clavicle and sternum, well-aimed jabs finding my armpit and stomach, kicks to my ribs stealing my breath. I crumpled when his heel dug into my inner thigh, shock waves running through my body to clench at the afflicted pressure point. He waited a few paces away, ready for my choice. The song ended with the dying trill of a violin and I raised my arm, yielding.

Ten minutes later found us side by side in the locker room, fresh from the showers. Bruises dotted my body from the shoulders down, though thankfully nowhere that couldn't be hidden. Struggling against my sports bra, I pulled the black long-sleeved t shirt down with care, grimacing at the growing discoloration. "I think you bruised my rib, Tatsu."

"Good. Maybe that'll teach you not to be overconfident."

I groaned, biting back a less than polite remark while working at my pants. When we first began training together years ago, I never dreamed I would be comfortable enough to let anyone see me without clothes. Decency had nothing to do with it – dance costumes saw to that – but the white marks stretching from my right shoulder to left hip. Five scars followed that path, each two fingers thick; ugly, jagged things which would never disappear:

Each from a day I longed to forget.

"You talk to your old man?"

"Not since last month."

The coins sliding into the vending machine rang in my ears as I propped against it, pressing a button with blind assurance. A 'clunk' and the water bottle fell into the tray but I made no move to retrieve it, forehead resting against one arm, the familiar scents of sweat and cleaning products prominent as I closed my eyes.

Four years was all I could tolerate of my father after the attack and, once I helped mom check into the Eiichi Sanatorium, I moved out. Due to the circumstances surrounding my family the school allowed me to take on a part-time job, though they had no idea I was homeless most of my last year in junior high. I stayed with friends as often as possible, though not often enough to rouse suspicion. Making up excuses as to why I was never home to receive calls or go out, my secret stayed safe – I was never one to talk about personal things, anyway.

When I couldn't find somewhere to stay, I slept outside storefronts, knowing no one would be stupid enough to harm a child with the world watching. If I slept past dawn, business owners would shoo me away, determined I was a delinquent or worse:

That's how I met Tatsuo.

Unlike everyone else, he didn't send me away when he found me on the steps of his dojo. No, he welcomed me in, made me tea, asked for my story. He closed up shop all day to listen to me, never interrupting or discounting my claims. No, he accepted the tale with grace, told me to use the washer and dryer in the back for my clothes–

Offered me a place to stay.

Faint wrinkles creased his eyes now, and his hair no longer held the fire it did then. I still don't know why I spilled my guts to him, why I accepted his offer. What began as a simple home-stay soon evolved into much more when he asked me to take classes under him, to 'earn my keep' by training with his other students. He never accepted any of the money earned from an eventual part-time job, either. By the time I graduated high school, I was Tatsuo's top student.

I think that's ultimately why he approached me about doing stunt double work.

"Get in touch with him more often – family's hard to come by."

A snort and I retrieved the water, taking a gracious sip. "He's a sperm donor; nothing more, nothing less."

He shook his head as I drained the bottle dry, pulling his hair into a loose knot at the crown of his head. "You need to get laid."

I laughed as we strolled back to the main floor, dropping the empty container in a trash can. "You're probably right. Don't worry, I'll find some poor fool to take advantage of soon."

The automatic doors swallowed his sigh as we left the building, hair shining in the setting sun. "Odawara–"

"Hey, as long as everyone has fun it's fine, right?"

Sleeping with strangers began the year I left home. At the time, the act served as a survival method: when I really wanted a place to stay, I found a lonely guy and we spent the night together; a win-win because I found a bed to sleep in and he got off. As an adult, the reason changed but the practice didn't.

Some habits die hard.

"I just don't see why you take the risk when there are plenty of guys who'd kill for a girl like you."

"Relationships are too much work, and most men aren't like you, Tatsuo. They're whiny, clingy – every bad stereotype they throw women into." I grinned, elbowing him. "My needs aren't great enough to justify all that over one man."

He shook his head but didn't broach the subject again, conversation naturally flowing to other things on the walk home.

_If you are not to become a monster,_

_you must care what they think._

A groan and I sprawled across the couch, allowing the book to fall on my face. The words crept through closed lids, musky pages saturating my senses. Lounge music drifted from the record player – some jazz piece I'd already forgotten – drowning out squalling traffic and random urban sounds. The hair at my nape rose and I knew Toki was watching, drawn on silent feet by an insatiable curiosity, though I wasn't in the mood to cater to his whims.

Wendell Berry's words wagged on my tongue once, bled from my lips, fingertips. What possessed me to leave a _poem_ for a stranger, a man I'd never even spoken to? And why those

lines? Why not the stanzas after, which discussed about freedom in forgiveness?

Most likely because that was a personal matter.

And I hadn't quite gotten a grip on forgiveness myself.

A white-clothed back flitted through my brain and I sighed, rolling over. I hadn't thought of Sato Odawara in months, not since a compulsive visit was met with cold indifference and no questions about mom. A deranged wife; a daughter with a suspect occupation–

He would have nothing to do with anything that could mar his reputation.

Without permission, another figure stole into my thoughts, one which came often since leaving the note with Ebisu. Another white dress shirt, worn without pretense or pride. A spotless brown coat draped over a chair back, dark tie loosened just so at the neck. Hair red as freshly spilled blood flowed forth to cover most of a face, a pale face with sunken cheeks and ivy eyes. Those eyes never glanced up from the book yet their rapt attention made me want to know what the pages held, what could be so worthy of this strange man's attention. He never said a word to anyone.

Minamino–

He didn't look Japanese at all.

For the hundredth time, I wondered whether he got the note and, moreso, why I cared so much if he did. Almost a week had passed and no matter how many times I asked Ebisu about it, he refused to say if Minamino ever returned. Even when I teased playing hard to get didn't suit him, Ebisu never took the bait, some untraceable code of honor binding his tongue.

Though the guessing game grew old, I respected his policy.

He'd already broken it once for me, anyway.

Warm breath on my cheek and I smiled, petting Toki before rising. Stretching sore limbs, I yawned, setting a Handel record to play. Cleaning products in-hand, I glided down the hall into the spotless bathroom, grasping for any distraction, even an imaginary one.

After all, I'd found thinking to be the worst thing to do when waiting.

I let my mind wander as suds flooded the earthen tile, thoughts traveling to the open-mic tomorrow night. Ayumu's latest project called for several night shoots, the first of which began tomorrow. Participating at Black Lotus would make reaching the set on time tricky but I knew I could do it. Thankfully, we were filming in Mushiyori and not a bigger city.

Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to go at all.

As chemicals burned my nose, several works vied for attention, each wanting to be heard by ready ears. Prose was out of the question: I'd have to say my piece, jet to the set, change and be ready to film at eight. Going first was out of the question but I could probably talk someone out of their early slot.

Poem after poem pulled at my tongue, begging me to taste the words, smoothing stanzas across my lips. However, the one that felt right caught me by surprise, mustering a smile as I recited the lines again.

I hoped the audience would be in the mood for something romantic.

**A/N: Two updates in one day, oh my! Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me; I hope this chapter helped you understand Azumi better. Also, thank you to all who followed, favorited and reviewed!**

**Big thanks to WhatWouldValeryDo for beta reading!**

**So, the stage is set for both Kurama and Azumi to appear at Black Lotus. How will this encounter go, and will their be closure on either end? Our protagonists finally meet next chapter! See you there!**


	9. A Woman True and Fair

_The meeting of two personalities is like _

_the contact of two chemical substances: if there_

_is any reaction, both are transformed._

– _Carl Jung_

A Woman True and Fair

"Are you sure?"

"Quite." My hands didn't halt their path across the colorful fabric, testing each for durability and comfort. Idle chatter filtered around the men's department, deep voices discussing shirts, suits and shoes. A few women dotted the premises as well, likely looking for a gift for their significant other–

This establishment did not take kindly to window shoppers.

Kuwabara frowned, accepting another garment before gently draping it across his arm. Clad in a simple shirt and jeans, he shifted under an employee's cursory glance, great jaw grinding behind sealed lips. A day spent cleaning my apartment rendered the space inhabitable once more; however, nearly every article of clothing proved a complete loss, ruined either by Yoko's claws, bloodstains, or standing waste.

"I must return to work, Kuwabara – dad can afford only so much lenience." Pressing a pair of slacks into his waiting hands, my brow furrowed at the size, a pitiful number which would horrify my mother. "I would prefer to be back home before then."

"Yeah, but _Sunday_? You could barely walk a few days ago!" He winced at his own outburst, concern wrinkling his brow. "Isn't that a little . . . soon?"

"As the saying goes, there is no time like the present." Guilt forced a smile to my lips as I realized how I must look to him, dwarfed in clothes meant for his frame: a sun-kissed sweatshirt ballooned around my abdomen, overly-large sleeves something a jester would wear in medieval court; khaki pants cinched at the waist on a belt's tightest wrung, legs rolled neatly to the ankle. Doubtlessly I seemed a child lost in a game of dress-up, a great pretender–

Was it little wonder he wouldn't hear of me shopping alone?

"Is this everything?" He sighed, knowing better than to fight.

Glancing at his meager load, I nodded. "Yes, though first I need to try them on." I'd chosen shirts and pants in different sizes because, honestly, I could not gauge what size would fit. Once I knew my new dimensions, proper garments would be acquired accordingly. Shoes could wait.

Accepting the bundle from my friend, I left him seated upon a bench, locking the dressing room door.

Hanging the items from a post erected for the purpose, I sighed, ready fingers running through my hair. Something not unlike vertigo threatened but a thick-veined stalk snaked from my sleeve, musky leaves brushing my nose, keeping the sensation at bay.

'_If you faint now, you'll look like a fool._'

A soft snort though I breathed nothing of his spontaneous act, stripping off first the sweatshirt, then the faded garment beneath. While unfastening Kuwabara's slacks, however, movement in the corner gave me pause. Before me stood a specter, a man I hardly knew: though flesh filled out sunken cheeks and the bags beneath my eyes had long since fled, both lips remained pale, thin, petals of a water lily plucked in sadistic pleasure. The protruding larynx, muscles depressed at the clavicle; pectorals giving way to pronounced ribs, corded abs drawing attention from pointed hips. A pelvis not quite full yet no longer concave, framed by a khaki fly and a belt held in bony hands. Despite my wasted state, each scar remained prominent, highlighting each battle, every brush with death–

Such things would not fade easily.

'_So, you mean to go through with this?_'

"Of course." I murmured, stepping from the rumpled pants before taking up the first article – a green turtleneck. "Whomever this Odawara is, she has no doubt been watching us." Pausing, I forced my head through the restrictive collar, sliding both arms through the sleeves before rolling the neck down. Pulling my hair free of the thing, I allowed the locks to fall down my back, noting the contrasts in color, the way the small sweater molded to my shape.

'_What will you do when you meet her?_'

"She should not pose a threat." I waved off his concern, removing the garment before reaching for a shirt.

'_If she does, I will handle it._' The lilt in his tone did not escape me, amusement peppering his tongue. '_We wouldn't want your . . . __**humanity**__ getting in the way._'

I shook off the remark, fingering the silk shirt, a sunny yellow more suited for spring than autumn. For the first time in years, my thoughts traveled to Maya, the human who came closest to discovering our secret. Yoko fought against saving her then, viewing her abduction as a loose end severing itself. He relented only when I noted a student close to me disappearing would draw unneeded attention, if not outright suspicion. Thus, the compromise of the Demon World pollen to make her forget the incident, as well as her love for me–

Such was for the best.

"That will not be an issue." I murmured, slipping into the shirt which would have fit perfectly months ago. "I have no desire in becoming involved with anyone."

A pause and I felt him raise a brow, a subtle shift beneath the skin. '_You still think of her?_'

_Her_. I sighed as images of Shizuru came unbidden, things I longed to forget: her willowy frame reclined against my balcony at the apartment-warming party, lips spewing smoke trails; her fingers combing through my hair, unafraid of what horrors awaited within those strands. Shizuru in my arms, rain-drenched clothes dampening my own, a bruise from a lover flaring one cheek. Fleeting embraces, careful touches, ever watchful of those who would seek her life. The feel of her mouth against mine, lips thick and sweet, raspberry lipstick staining my collar–

Such memories brought nothing but pain.

'_She wanted us._' He continued, muted tone belying anger. '_She wanted __**both**__ of us!_'

"We cannot change what was." The argument came softly, ever-conscious of sensitive ears just outside the door. "The only thing left is to move forward."

He held his peace while I tried on first one pair of slacks, then another. On the fifth and final pair, however: '_You've always been a coward._'

The slur stung, as most truths do, though I did my best to conceal it, folding each article before donning Kuwabara's clothes. "Think what you will, all I ask is that you restrain yourself – there is no need for you to interfere in human affairs."

* * *

Time raced forward at a snail's pace, jumping forward and back without rhyme or reason. I had no desire to converse with anyone and books offered no reprieve, the words becoming lost between my ears as soon as I read them. Sleep refused to come despite the aching behind my eyes and each movement felt both sluggish and jerky, causing me to bump into a wall and drop a cup which miraculously did not break.

I lost track of how many combinations I attempted from the limited wardrobe, settling finally on a white shirt with long sleeves and black slacks. The thick socks were unreasonably warm yet comforting for they silenced my steps, offering the illusion that I could steal the night from nameless hours. Scenarios ran through my mind like wild things yet I could not pin down a definite plan of action. I knew nothing of the woman save her name: no occupation, connections, skill sets, not even a physical description. Odawara–

What could she possibly know?

'_Stop._'

Too late I felt leaves brush my cheek, the strangled cry of a flower. Blue petals curled as the dahlia cringed, twin-headed blossoms swaying. Stalks spiraling around my wrist and fingers, desperate sisters moaned, tears and seeping fluid betraying their sudden, violent growth. Despite the pain, they continued feeding on his energy, an essence meticulously crafted for centuries.

Murmuring a soft apology, I extracted my hand from thick fronds, troubled at the plant having tripled in size in only seconds. "You are not troubled by this?"

'_Worry will get us nowhere._' His cool voice crept up my neck, twisted my ears as he somehow coaxed the flowers back to their original form.

Leaning against the bedside desk, I rested my head in one hand, grasping my side with the other. "She can't possibly know."

'_If she does, I will kill her, just like the boy._'

Game Master's face surfaced and I squeezed my eyes shut, barring the memory. During the race to save Kuwabara, I could not remember when Yoko took control; only that his hands guided mine, filling the child with terror before ending his life. Had I protested, he would have resigned himself and allowed me the task, though I could not–

The boy's begging for his life still haunted my dreams.

'_Humans mean nothing._' The words chilled my throat, cinching my tongue. '_They're passing fancies, little more than food – foolish creatures which cannot grasp their own insignificance._'

I knew better than to argue, choosing instead to creep from the shared bedroom. Thankfully, the kitchen proved empty and silent, much like the rest of the residence. Cracking open the refrigerator, I took a bottle of water and an orange, drinking deeply before setting to work. Ignoring custom, I peeled the fruit over the garbage bin, tearing apart the flesh and sliding fruit into my mouth piece by piece. The juices rested thick on my tongue, citrus scent bringing to mind happier times, memories of laughter and perfumed hands–

"So, who is she?"

The last morsel slipped down my windpipe and I gagged, coughing fit making my head swim. Kuwabara sat at the kitchen table, pencil held between meaty fingers eyes fixed upon various papers. When he finally looked away from the medical journals and anatomical diagrams, I noted the curve of his lips, the humor lighting his gaze.

Throwing the last of the peelings away, I wiped at an invisible wrinkle, clearing my throat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He shook his head but smiled all the same. "There's only three things you could be dressing up for: work, seeing a woman, or visiting your mom. You said you're not going back to work til Monday, and I don't think you're ready to see Mrs. Shiori–"

"No." I cut in, orange chunks churning my stomach.

"Then it's a woman." Flipping first one page, then another, he circled an item before nodding, tucking the pencil behind his ear. "Don't worry, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Staring at his profile, I straightened, exuding confidence I did not feel. "Honestly, I do not know how to answer your question."

He lifted his head, brow raised. "What, you don't know her?"

"No."

"So it's a blind date?"

I ignored Yoko's chuckle, nodding. "Something like that, yes."

A scraping of tile against wood and Kuwabara stood, work forgotten. "Alright, let's go."

He left the room and there was little else to do but follow. "Go _where_?"

"The bathroom. I can't let you meet a lady looking like that."

Glancing down, I took in my attire, a simple yet appropriate costume. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Shaking his head, he pushed me into the bathroom, switching on the light and closing the door. "It's not what you're wearing, man – it's you."

For the second time that day, I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw. "I don't understand."

"Don't get me wrong, you're way better off than you were a month ago but you still look sick." He explored my face as he talked, fingers brushing vein-flecked temples before lifting a red lock. "When's the last time you had a hair cut?"

Frowning, I thought back as he crouched before the cabinet, fingering an overly-long bang. "June, I believe."

"Thought so." Shining scissors appeared in his hand, along with a selection of cosmetics. Satisfied with his choices, he nodded, pulling the stool in front of the sink. "Alright, sit down."

I eyed the scissors warily, shoulders slipping back. "What are you going to do?"

"I wouldn't be a man if I let you go on a date looking like that." He grunted, motioning toward the shower seat while taking a towel from the stack above the toilet. "Come on, if you're already dressed we don't have a lot of time."

Kuwabara waited until I sat before moving, draping the towel around my shoulders. Lifting my hair over the cloth, he allowed all but one strand to fall, rubbing the thick rope between his fingers. "Two inches, three tops." He murmured, glancing at me in the mirror. "What do you think?"

Sighing, I forced myself to study the red pouring down my back. Before, I noticed only the dull shade though now the problem paraded before me. I'd kept long hair for years, both for practicality's sake as well as mother liking the style. However, my hair had never been left unchecked and the results were plain, fractured ends falling past my hips.

How did I not notice before? "That will be fine."

"Okay, then we'll have to style it." Grabbing a handful of clips and bobby pins from a woven basket, he set to work gathering most of the red in a mass atop my head, running through the remainder with a fine-toothed comb. "Do you usually layer your hair?"

"Yes." The admission came slowly as he made quick measurements with his hand, the snipping of scissors filling the air.

Try as I might, I couldn't contain myself past the bottom layer. "Kuwabara, when did you learn to cut hair?"

"Back in middle school; growing up, sis practiced on me all the time." He talked as he worked, each cut confident, sure. "One time, she messed up really bad; it was my last year of elementary school and she'd just learned how to do perms. Well, the first time she tried it on me, she mixed up the wrong chemicals and turned my hair orange! She tried to cover it by giving me an awesome haircut but it still looked rough; she cried." Kuwabara chuckled, lips curling around the pins in his mouth. "I couldn't take that so I told her I loved it, made her do my hair that way all through middle and high school."

My eyes roved to his honey-bronze hair reflected in the glass, curls gathering at the forehead. "Faulty permanents couldn't have been good for you."

"Yeah, they messed my head up pretty bad. That's why I still style it like this." The scissor's work permeated once more, adding to the ever-increasing red dotting the floor. "It doesn't bother me, though. If something like bad hair can make a lady smile, I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

Thirty minutes later found him laying my head over the sink, massaging different compounds into my scalp. I relaxed under his caresses, gentle prodding nearly lulling me to sleep. "How do you want it styled?"

I shrugged, not bothering to open my eyes. "However you wish."

Somewhere between blow drying and brushing I nodded off, for the next thing I knew pressure lit the side of my head. Several strands erupted between Kuwabara's fingers and he stared with knitted brow, cheek sucked between his jaws. "Kuwabara?"

"Shh, this is the tough part." He murmured, absorbed in his work.

I watched on as he twisted the locks into first one elaborate braid, then another, fastening both with clear bands before following suit with the other side. Gathering the four together, he fastened them at my nape, unfurling the ends so that they spilled over the remainder in waves. When asked my thoughts on the finished product, I could only offer the barest commendations while Yoko hummed his approval, speechless in the face of my friend's talent.

What else did I not know about this man?

The makeup was a simple affair, foundation and a touch of rouge breathing life into my skin. When the eyeliner and mascara emerged, however, I frowned, questioning their relevance.

"I want her looking at your eyes, not your face." He took my chin between his forefinger and thumb, commanding I look up. "This stuff helps but I'm not a miracle worker."

Relenting, I allowed him to do as he willed, the end result being the picture of health. I looked exactly as I had before the dreaded order, before I was left alone–

Before life lost all luster.

"What do you think?" He pressed, wiping powder on his pants. "Anything missing?"

"No, it's perfect." Turning first this way, then that, I studied my face, feeling as if I were truly seeing myself for the first time in months. "This is remarkable."

"I can show you how, if you want." Looking away, he rubbed the back of his neck, pink tinging his cheeks. "You know, until you get back to normal."

Smiling, I folded the towel before handing it to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Kuwabara. For everything."

* * *

Like most establishments, Black Lotus took on a life of its own as evening fell. When twilight gathered and the streetlights flickered, two attendants propped the sleek double doors open, translucent petals wafting the scent of bread and warm beverages into the street. I watched from a nearby shop as late day regulars fled the cafe, making way for well-dressed patrons with clicking heels and glistening buttons. Every so often a spot of denim emerged from the trickling stream, though these were overshadowed by their classy cousins.

So, business-casual was the right choice after all.

Paying for my purchase – a thin volume I'd read countless times – I thanked the cashier warmly before moving to join the throng, dying sunlight weaving through man and woman alike. "How will we know her?"

A snort. '_Your kind cares too much about manners not to announce those participating in an event._'

"And if she's not participating but merely an observer?"

Stepping aside to allow the girl behind me precedence, I was ill-prepared for the drastic change of light, though Yoko appeared nonplussed. Rather, I allowed him to guide my feet to a familiar table, to set us in a chair my body molded to effortlessly, to fix my eyes upon the book in my hands until I could see the words clearly.

'_Trust your instincts and, if they prove insufficient, trust mine._'

Willing my breathing to slow, I waved away an approaching server, sipping from the sweating water glass before setting it back atop its coaster. In fact, identical glasses rested on each table, occupied or no. The establishment was nearly two-thirds full and still more patrons pressed in, laughter and bright conversation preceding them. Most drank from beverages purchased at the front – teas, coffees and such – though every so often I spotted the sparkling stem of a wine glass. Behind the counter, I saw Ebisu dealing Black Lotus' wares to certain customers, though if he saw me he gave no inclination.

Feigning interest in the book, I took note of every woman present. Spanning from the cusp of youth to middle-aged, they paraded to their seats one after another, hairstyles varying almost as much as their dress. Flowing dresses, cotton business suits and perfectly pressed pants; a flash of ankle, glittering teeth, long notes pealing from elegant throats. Empty conversation, each boasting an opinion about absolutely nothing–

None of them matched the words burning inside my pocket.

Then the barista from before – Retsu – welcomed everyone, thanking us for our continued support. I clapped along with the others while donning a smile perfected over the years, yet still I watched. My companion shifted beneath my skin, waiting.

After the necessary preliminaries, Retsu opened the floor who whomever wished to participate. Men and women rose in-turn, some with papers gripped between white fingers while others came empty handed. However, each came from a straight-backed chair or stool, fleeing from a crowd already deemed unworthy.

Not knowing what else to do, I waited, pretending to listen to their pretty words. Some spouted traditional Japanese pieces, along with occasional foreign prose. A few found the courage to share their own work and, while I admired such bravery, it didn't interest me. Several glanced my way with veiled curiosity, though I neither wanted nor needed their approval.

Nearly an hour passed this way and, despite my best efforts, I began losing hope. Water long-since drained, I tilted the glass this way and that, no longer caring for the farce of the avid listener. One speaker blended into the next and I closed my eyes, endless banter suddenly too much for my ears. The occasional whiff of aftershave mingling with cologne assaulted my nose, perfume peppering the air from slim wrists; clinking silverware, plum matte bleeding alcohol from fake lips–

Why were we even here?

"_Go and catch a falling star,_

_Get with child a mandrake root,_"

Flawless English reached my ears, carried over the crowd on rich, bubbling waves. A woman stood on the platform where none stood moments before, legs spread, arms raised with a dancer's grace. Red dress flowing with generous sleeves and a knee-length skirt, she held her audience captive with one look, the simplest twitch of her fingers. Black bangs curled atop dark brows, barely traceable mascara and other paints highlighting onyx eyes. Hair sweeping out from beneath her chin, brushing rosy cheeks, accenting cherry lips as she spoke again:

_Tell me where all past years are,_

_Or who cleft the devil's foot,_

The room breathed only when she paused, as if the very air obeyed her whims. Black earrings caught the light and she looked this way and that slowly, choker hugging her throat like an jealous lover. Bracelets of varying sizes clattered on her wrists, keeping time with her words as if the poem's natural flow could not. Delicate folds betrayed well-formed arms, muscular legs trickling into black pumps underlined by more delectable red. Tanned skin, long, thin fingers:

It was _her_.

It had to be.

_Teach me to hear the mermaid's singing,_

_Or to keep off envy's stinging,_

_ And find_

_ What wind_

_Serves to advance an honest mind._

"That's her." I breathed into my hand, careful to keep to the barest of whispers.

Yet my companion remained unmoved, far calmer than I. '_Listen._' He demanded quietly, a detached air tinging his voice.

She gave me little choice but to obey.

_If thou be'st born to strange sights,_

_Things invisible to see,_

_Ride ten thousand days and nights,_

_Till age snow white hairs on thee,_

A soft purr sounded and for a moment, I believed someone unwittingly let a cat into the cafe. Look as I may, though, the creature would not appear. Only when those dark eyes met mine did I realize the sound came from my own throat.

Rather than laugh at the hand flying to my mouth, however, the barest of smiles graced her lips, a smile meant for me alone.

All traces of sound died beneath that gaze.

_Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me,_

_All strange wonders that befell thee,_

_ And swear,_

_ No where,_

_Lives a woman true, and fair._

She enunciated each word perfectly, each pause poignant, precise. My cheeks cooled as I watched her watch first one listener, then another, heels clicking with each step. She played the humble hostess well but the wistful look in those eyes betrayed her. This woman – she was not here for us. We were implements for her amusement, instruments of pleasure to be used however she pleased.

Strangely, I did not think anyone minded.

Yoko, at least, did not complain.

_If thou find'st one, let me know,_

_Such a pilgrimage were sweet;_

_Yet do not, I would not go,_

_Though at next door we might meet;_

Each line came with a poet's passion, an actor's flare. A plaintive pitch to lure her audience in, leaning toward the nearest table, hands pressed to a supple bosom. Then, she pushed us away in the next breath, arms raised over her face, fear tickling her tongue. That straight back, the fingers raised to press the swell of red:

She knew exactly what she was doing.

_Though she were true, when you met her,_

_And last, till you write your letter,_

_ Yet she_

_ Will be_

_False, ere I come, to two, or three._

Before I was quite ready, it was over, ensuing silence drowned by applause. She bowed once, twice, disappearing from view as two exuberant patrons gave standing ovations. By the time the men returned to their seats, she was gone, empty platform leaving no indication of her presence. For a moment, I wondered if she'd slipped into one of the surrounding seats, or hurried to the coffee bar for a drink. However, a casual sweep of the room proved such theories false and when Ebisu rose to thank everyone for coming, I knew she'd fled for the evening.

A heat overtook my body then, the sting of unwanted attention unique to predators, and I knew it was time to leave. Leaving a few hundred yen coins on the table, I stood as the crowd fell into companionable chattering, weaving through retreating chairs and stealthy servers. A nod to Ebisu, secure once more behind the bar polishing glasses and we were gone, glass doors leading into the cool night.

The streets were sparse, though this section of town was not known for after-hour activities. Still, I waited until only the odd pedestrian remained before speaking, fall frost ghosting my hair. "What do you think?"

He took his time responding, tone muted, musing. '_Of the establishment or the girl?_'

I fought the urge to scoff yet did not answer, allowing my feet to go where they would. One dark street led to another and still he remained silent, observing the water puddles beneath, the stained brick at either hand. A barren landscape, devoid of all traces of flora–

Yoko had never been fond of metal cities.

'_She is . . . a force._'

The wording caught me off-guard but when he made no move to explain, I continued on our way, hands sliding into either pocket. "Does she know anything?"

'_She knows many things; an experienced woman._' He chuckled, a foreignness seeping into his voice.

Turning a corner, light rained from overhead but I didn't look up, dared not take my attention from my companion. How strange; why would city planners put lamps on this street? "But does she know about _you_?"

A thoughtful hum and he shifted, phantom hair ghosting my shoulders. '_Not likely, though she appears to know you._'

That gave me pause and I nearly stumbled, foot snagging on some abnormality in the pavement. "What makes you so sure?"

My feet guided me over one bump, then another. Humming generators, a blinding glow – apparently someone was setting about breathing life into this spot.

'_That smile, the way she looked at you. It was . . . familiar._'

Before I could argue, a low grunt reached my ears, followed by pounding steps. Glancing up, a lithe form darted into a nearby alley followed hotly by five men, one marked by undeniable red and a rain forest's musk. Pressing myself to the slick brick, I crept toward the opening, relying on borrowed grace I could never hope to possess.

Indeed, Odawara stood in the alleyway, her breath labored, taking a defensive stance which favored her left side. I noted the sweat beading her brow, the scarlet dying a clenched fist. The ear rings were gone, as were the bracelets, though the choker remained, bobbing larynx marking her pulse. Slowly, the semicircle of men tightened around her and one grinned, saying something I couldn't hear.

She struck then, feinting toward a stocky man's head before kicking his knee, heel digging in savagely. He howled and fell back though his companions took his place readily, engaging in a fight they were sure to win.

I was moving before conscious thought hit, caring nothing for a plan or what Yoko thought. A fist connected with her mouth and she staggered, fresh red spraying the air, dying her teeth, her chin. Sure of victory, the assailant stepped closer, hands reaching eagerly for that throat.

Words cannot describe the shock lining the man's face when I stepped between them, one arm brushing his away while my hand connected savagely with his ear, knocking him to the side. Another came up behind, already in the process of attacking and unable to stop himself. I allowed the fool to do the work for me, catching his wrist while tripping him over one leg, sending him into a heap with his friend. Straightening, I stepped between the remaining three and Odawara, all of whom stilled, eyes wide. Human, these men were doubtlessly human–

Not that this changed anything.

"If you value your limbs, I suggest you leave." I said quietly, resisting the urge to reach for the screaming seeds in my hair.

One looked to another while the third rushed to his fallen companions, a middle-aged man with silvered ochre hair choosing to speak. "Listen, I think you have the wrong idea–"

"There is no ideology which supports attacking an innocent woman." He raised a brow as I angled myself concretely between them; I could not guess at my facial expression. "I suggest you leave. Now."

Odawara chose then to burst past me, glare seething, anger burning her eyes. "What are you _doing–_?"

"CUT!"

A new voice and I flinched as night became day, raising a hand to my eyes. Only then did I see the man sequestered in a cloth chair, cables bunched like so many snakes along the walls, the people peering around hulking cameras, clipboards and pole lights. Reality hit, then, scenes from a documentary viewed in school. A movie set, this was a movie set–

And I'd somehow wandered into the middle of filming.

Words would not come as several attendants came forth to help the fallen men, the first whom continued to nurse his ear. Confused murmurs, scathing glances–

And Odwara, in her gory glory, glaring at me.

Somehow, this was not how I imagined our first meeting.

* * *

A/N: Hello and welcome back! Sorry this took so long to get out, life and sickness punched me square in the gut but we made it: our heroes _finally_ meet!

Big shout out to WhatWouldValeryDo; without you constantly letting me bounce ideas, this fic would have never seen the light of day. Check out her awesome fic _What Does the Fox Say_!

So a dolled-up fox goes to a lit reading and royally screws everything up. How will he fix this and find out what Azumi knows? And what's up with Yoko? Read on to find out!


	10. The After

_Sooner or later everyone sits down to a_

_banquet of consequences._

– _Robert Louis Stevenson_

The After

Ebisu said nothing when I slipped in at closing time, taking a seat at the far end of the bar. My phone buzzed against my thigh but I ignored it, welcoming the darkness allowed by the hand pressing against my eyes. Throbbing temples, phantom fingers cinching my neck; heat stirring my stomach, ears howling with silent sound–

I hadn't been this angry in a long time.

"What hole were you hiding in?"

"Save it." I regretted snapping immediately for he fell silent, all traces of humor or concern replaced with smooth, cold indifference. "Sorry," Biting back a sigh, I massaged my forehead before gripping a handful of hair. "It's been . . . a day."

More squeaking glass proceeded a gentle tinkling; retreating footsteps to the far side of the bar. Silence ground my ears and I sighed, grip tightening and pushing my head into the crook of one arm. This was a bad idea; I'd known that as soon as I left my apartment. I needed to be in the gym, beating the life out of the red heavy bag, but I didn't want to see my coworkers.

Or anything red.

A nutty aroma caked with earth filtered in, a smell I'd know anywhere. When I sat up, my favorite blend of coffee sat at my elbow and Ebisu was back to polishing glasses, checking each one before hanging them with the rest.

Taking the mug, I breathed in the smell before taking a sip, savoring the miracle liquid in all its glory. "Thanks."

He remained focused on his task, though I knew he heard me – nothing escaped Ebisu's eye.

Finally, several minutes and half a cup of coffee later, he spoke. "I can put something in there to take the edge off, help you relax."

The offer caught me off-guard though I hid my face carefully behind the mug, searching for cracks or blemishes that weren't there. Ebisu knew I didn't drink; we'd known each other since I was a teenager, right after I moved in with Tatsuo. For him to offer alcohol despite that–

How bad did I look?

"No thanks, I'm alright." The lie slipped out before I could catch it and I saw him lift a brow, eyes hidden behind lilac lenses. "Actually, no, that's not right." Taking another sip, I held the mug between firm fingers, enjoying the liquid burning all the way down. "I've been at home all day; didn't feel like seeing anyone."

A grunt and he nodded, continuing his nightly routine. Except for special occasions, Ebisu closed up shop alone, blaming his attention to detail and insisting his employees always missed spots on tables, left the dishwasher running or other atrocities. Though I knew better. A few years ago, one of his waitresses ran into trouble on the way home after helping close. This district of Mushiyori had gone to pot over the past ten years, and Black Lotus sat right in the middle of the cesspool. While she made a full recovery, Ebisu implemented a new policy that sent everyone else home at ten on the dot.

Thus why we were the only ones here at almost 11 pm.

"This got something to do with Minamino?"

I stiffened at the name before releasing the cup, staring down into the black beverage. "What makes you ask that?"

He snorted but didn't look up, intent on wiping down the counter. "You don't show up for a day and he comes looking for you, asking for you by name? Doesn't take a rocket scientist."

Releasing a slow breath, I frowned, willing my voice remain level. "What did he want with me?"

"I answered your question; now, answer mine."

So I told him about last night, how I'd done my bit for Open Mic before going to work. I'd known making it on-time for the shoot would be close so I wore the red dress and heels to Black Lotus, to save the trouble of changing later. Everything went well with filming until the action scene, where my character was pursued into an alley. We'd choreographed the encounter perfectly, me biting the fake blood packet in-time with Yatsu's punch, prepared to be taken down despite putting up a good fight–

That is, until _he_ showed up.

"So, he was trying to save you." Ebisu withdrew a cigarette from his breast pocket, lighting up after pulling a crystal ashtray near.

My nose wrinkled at the smell though I knew better than to say anything. This was his place, he could get cancer here if he wanted. "Only I didn't _need_ saving!"

"No, I guess not." He took a drag before blowing smoke from his nostrils, glowing stick held between poised fingers. "But there's more to it, isn't there?"

I nodded, taking another sip. "While Ginjo is fine, Yatsu's pretty messed up. He had to go to the hospital – the blow ruptured his eardrum."

Nose wrinkling, I set the mug down with more force than intended, sloshing coffee onto my knuckles. I swore before a cool rag pressed into my hands, bringing immediate relief to rising blisters.

"Thanks." Nodding, he retrieved his abandoned cigarette, motioning me to continue. "He's going to be alright, though he won't be able to work for a few weeks. My pay's being docked to help with his expenses."

Ebisu raised both brows at this, flicking ash into the container. "Don't you guys have insurance for stuff like that?"

"Yes, but work only pays for work-related accidents. If Yatsu fell during a shoot that would be one thing; but since it was a deliberate injury caused by someone I 'know', it's apparently my responsibility."

"It eat into your rainy day fund?"

A bitter smile and I laughed, wrapping the warming cloth around the worst of the burns. "Bit more than that but I'll live."

He fell silent, gaze wandering to the far wall. I kept talking anyway, certain he was listening. "Look, I get the guy meant well and all that; it's just . . . frustrating." My fingers ached from gripping the rag but I let the pain ground me, keep me safe from pointless thoughts. "This business isn't easy for anyone – I've spent years convincing everyone I'm not like the women I play on-set – and then some stranger comes in and makes it look like I couldn't take care of myself. The jokes about 'the princess her knight in shining armor' started while we were still at the hospital."

The jabs filled my ears once more and I sighed, resisting the urge to hide my face. "I can deal with that, though – I'm not a kid. The money isn't a big deal, either; things will be tight this month but I'll make it. Just–" I paused, releasing the rag in favor of fingering a strand of hair. "I feel like an idiot for worrying about him."

There was no doubt who 'he' was, and Ebisu made no comment. In fact, he still stared at some unknown point, cigarette heavy with ash between his lips.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he's okay. When he didn't show up here for a while, I thought something bad happened."Lips pursed, I twirled the black lock in slow circles, noting the contrasting colors. No matter how hard I tried, even after years in this line of work, I still couldn't keep a tan. "I'm glad he stopped by last night."

"It's weird." Breathing a sigh, I released the hair, taking another sip of coffee. "I don't usually worry about other people, so to get worked up over a guy I've never met–"

There was nothing to add so I let the words die, gaze falling to glaring knuckles. For the hundredth time, I relived the night before: the calm delight of open mic rising to genuine joy at seeing Minamino in the audience; a tinge of anxiety as I noted the time, as well as the feel of those strange eyes upon me. The pleasure of a perfect filming, crowned by one last action scene–

Then watching it all dissolve in the wake of red.

Finally, Ebisu moved, smoke billowing as he extinguished the pitiful remains of the cigarette. "He wants to see you."

I stiffened, confusion soaking through angry embers. "Why?"

"Don't know. From everything you've said, probably to apologize." He snorted, bending to reach beneath the counter. Moments later, he straightened, pushing something into my hands.

Glancing down, I noted the tightly rolled paper, bereft of lines and tied with a crimson string. For his part, Ebisu retreated to the far side of the cafe, intent on wiping down gleaming tables. After a moment's hesitation, I took a breath and and slid off the thread, spreading the sheet flat only to see:

_I wonder about the trees._

_Why do we wish to bear_

_Forever the noise of these_

_More than another noise_

_So close to our dwelling place?_

_We suffer them by the day_

_Till we lose all measure of pace,_

_And fixity in our joys,_

_And acquire a listening air._

_They are that that talks of going_

_But never gets away;_

_And that talks no less for knowing,_

_As it grows wiser and older,_

_That now it means to stay._

Blinking, I swallowed and read again. The poem was written in a strange hand, free and flowing yet elegant, words scribed in both Japanese and English. A tree separated the two languages, as though they were shy lovers, afraid to face one another. The tree was beautifully rendered, complete with roots, bark, and intricate branches. I recognized it immediately – cherry blossoms grew throughout Mushiyori, meticulously tended by city personnel – yet no blooms or leaves rested on those strong arms. No, this was a tree caught in the grips of fall, captured just before the first snow.

Identical to the one planted outside Black Lotus.

Against my will, a familiar voice flooded my ears, taking me to another place, another time:

"_My feet tug at the floor_

_And my head sways to my shoulder,_

_Sometimes when I watch trees sway,_

_From the window or the door."_

"Odawara?"

Starting, I straightened, burned knuckles screaming atop clenched fists. Ebisu watched from a corner table, hand stilled mid-swipe. I couldn't gauge my expression though his spoke volumes, brows drawn, mouth pulled into a fierce frown. "Everything alright?"

Clearing my throat, I carefully rolled up the note before reattaching the thread, stuffing the thing in my pocket. Sweat beaded my nape; I did my best to hide shaking hands, though I'm sure he saw, anyway. "You said he wants to meet?"

"Yeah, Sunday morning around ten, or 'at your earliest convenience'." When I could only stare, he rose to his full height, dirty rag forgotten. "Look, if you don't want–"

"No, that's fine." Another breath and I slowly unfurled my fingers, staring at the tiny scars crisscrossing there. "Unless he's willing to pay up, though, I'm not interested."

Ebisu considered a moment longer before shrugging, moving back to his task. "That's between you and him, I'm done being your carrier pigeon."

And that was it. No more questions, no insight or promises of safety. He knew I could take care of myself and if Ebisu seriously believed Minamino was a threat, he wouldn't have mentioned him at all.

I just couldn't wait to nail pretty boy to the floor.

Only my window burned by the time I got home, everyone else no doubt already asleep. One of the perks of living in an old building full of old people. Depositing shoes and coat in the genkan, I padded to the living room, falling into the embrace of sandalwood, lavender, and the light of the table lamp. Toki purred from his spot on the couch, lost to whatever dreams cats have, paws slowly kneading a blanket.

Smiling, my feet took me to the record player and, before long, Glenn Miller's _In the Mood_ filled the room. Hand roving to the bookshelf, I plucked a slim volume before moving to the couch, sinking effortlessly into leather folds. A slow yowl and I rubbed Toki's head, massaging first one fuzzy ear then the other before opening the worn paperback to a marked page:

"_I shall set forth for somewhere,_

_I shall make the reckless choice_

_Some day when they are in voice_

_And tossing so as to scare_

_The white clouds over them on._

_I shall have less to say,_

_But I shall be gone._"

Mom's voice flooded in as I whispered the final lines, taking me back to childhood. Though she always preferred fiction, mom knew how much I loved poetry, even back then. As a compromise, we read one story and one poem a night, she picking the poem, and I the story. My love for Western poets came from her, for those were the ones she read the most.

Robert Frost was her favorite.

Breathing a soft sigh, my gaze fell to the picture frame beside the lamp. Mom and I stood at my elementary graduation, frozen forever with stupid grins on our faces. She knelt on the ground in her white hose and green dress, embracing me with perfect pale arms. Two teeth were missing from my smile and, though I felt self-conscious about it at the time, what else could I do when she hugged me like that. Her hair swept into a bun, mine fashioned in twin ponytails beneath my ears–

We had no way of knowing the following week would change our lives forever.

My back itched but I ignored it, pulling the note out instead. Studying it, I couldn't help but be impressed at the layout of the thing, the perfect handwriting separated by a sprawling tree. Honestly, if not for the pay deduction I would probably let the whole thing go, just forget that strange red hair and everything else related to Minamino.

But I couldn't forget. The cost of living wasn't going down and facilities like Eiichi weren't the best because of small price tags. While there should be enough in my account to pay the sanatorium, the possibility of increased expenses due to new medication or a severe episode gnawed at my belly, overpowering any calm the music might bring.

I could get by with a temporary pay cut.

My mom couldn't.

A/N: Hello again and thank you for your patience! I intended to have this chapter published a week ago and time as well as life have not cooperated. Thank you for your continued readership, as well as those who have favorited, followed and reviewed! Your thoughts on this story are always appreciated.

So, we got to know Ebisu and Azumi a bit more this time, as well as why she's so upset about the whole thing. What could Minamino possibly say to make this situation better, and what will her response be? Kurama's back next chapter, see you then!


	11. Fallout Boy

_Smile, breathe, and go slowly._

– _Thich Nhat Hanh_

Fallout Boy

'_You intend to carry out this farce?_'

My hands stilled, mirror reflecting fingers gripping a loosened tie. The firm's restroom was empty – a fact I made sure of before locking myself in the multi-throned chamber. A simple question, belying amusement, curiosity, and feigned disinterest simultaneously.

We had no time for such games.

"Everything's already arranged." I argued softly, shrugging out of the tan suit jacket before hanging it over a stall door, folding the tie into a side pocket. Brandishing a ready-made packet, I faced myself once more in the mirror, Kuwabara's instructions ringing in my ears. "If I cancel now, she may never give us another chance."

I felt him frown as I pressed powder to too-pale areas, skin not yet convinced of returned health. Thankfully, this addition was all that was needed – I doubt I could apply mascara alone.

Then, while checking dandelion fabric for remnants of foundation, '_We should just kill her._'

My body stiffened without permission, arms falling away, gaze rising to the mirror. "You believe she is dangerous?"

'_Women are dangerous by nature, though you will discover that for yourself._' He mused, limbs shifting within me, the unpleasant sensation of skin-against-skin making me shudder. '_You are young, Shuichi; naive. If she knows our secret, she can easily conceal it._'

"Yes, but she cannot hide anything from you."

He pressed no further and I left him to his thoughts. The walk to Black Lotus was uneventful, air choked by rumbling tires and pollution most humans would not notice. Trees caught in autumn's embrace lined the streets, each in various stages of change, willingly shedding their leaves in preparation for winter. Flaking bark joined swaths of reds, yellows and oranges, crunching between my feet and lukewarm pavement. Normally, I paid no attention to dead leaves yet now the shades would not fade. Telltale scarlet, crimson, vermilion–

A flowing red dress, thick and luscious as fresh blood.

I paused at the abruptness of the image, the sudden thickness gripping my throat. Gradually, the sensation faded and I continued on, conscious of cursory glances and thankful no one had time to stop this time of day. I'd taken a full hour for lunch in anticipation of this meeting; a precaution, hopefully an unnecessary one. If all went well, this would clear up any uncertainties about Odawara and further contact would be unnecessary.

Otherwise, the situation may call for more drastic measures.

Again, I saw her bathed in moonlight, silver lining her hair, porcelain skin glimmering like that of a doll's. Truly, she resembled a doll that night, a finely crafted plaything left to the world of men. The lines of her arms, sculpted calves aiding her flight; the vicious baring of teeth, hair gracefully curving against an artery. Though nearly a week had passed, the image refused to leave.

Those eyes haunted my dreams.

'_Focus._'

Laughter from nearby and I stopped, assaulted by a chrysanthemum breeze. Black Lotus stood to the right, nestled warmly behind boxes bursting with variations of the flower. White, red, purple and blue waved against painted brick and glass, each speaking at once in stage whispers I couldn't make out.

Without warning, the crisp air became stifling, sweat collecting at my nape to drip down my spine, my ribs, collect in the hollow of my throat. A whirlpool churned fresh fruit and coffee in my gut, bile creeping up my esophagus with a spider's grace. Too-bright light dotted my vision, each sound too loud yet strangely quiet. The cloth against my skin itched, burned:

I could not do this.

'_Shuichi._'

My name on his tongue – strong, sure – and panic fled, dissolving until only a measure remained. Sighing, I forced myself to relax, loosening the topmost button before entering.

Warmth, chatter and cheery lighting greeted at the door, along with a call from behind the counter. Jacket creaking as it slipped from my arms, I breathed in the familiar aromas of steaming tea and black coffee, alongside various creams, day-old grounds, as well as the blooms gracing vases throughout the cafe. A barista took my order and I scanned the establishment once more, surprised at the amount of customers. Then again, it was lunchtime and many people would have little time to eat elsewhere.

Just as the mousy woman pressed the beverage into my hand, she appeared. Odawara sat a window-side table staring absently at a cup of tea, heedless of the chrysanthemums tapping the glass. Hair tucked behind a dainty ear, she appeared uncaring that both elbows rested on the table alongside a nibbled pastry, mouth pressed against her palm. Despite the chill in the air, she wore a sleeveless black blouse with a high collar, crossed legs raising the pencil skirt just above the knee. No jewelry graced her hands or head; no necklaces adorned her neck. Rather, the lack of fabric drew attention to well-formed arms, an open challenge to the world–

A sign of power.

For a moment, I simply stared, discomfort forgotten. She continued watching her cup, shoulders slack, as if whatever she saw there captivated and held no interest simultaneously. Checking the time, I noted fifteen minutes remained until our meeting should start, yet she seemed to have been here for quite a while.

At least, the empty saucers and cups to her left indicated such.

"Ms. Odawara?"

Had I not been watching closely, I would have missed the slight parting of her lips, the barest tension entering those shoulders. She hadn't heard me approach, though I made no move to conceal myself. As she righted herself in the chair, however, I saw why: twin cords hung from her ears, silently singing music only she could hear.

She made no effort to remove them.

Forcing dry lips to move, I smiled, motioning to the table. "May I join you?"

Black-lined eyes flitted to the clock at my back; her apathetic gaze would have made Hiei proud.

Taking the seat opposite her, my mind traveled once more to that mishap meeting, her skin dyed by the night and that endless, flowing dress. "Has anyone ever mentioned you look ravishing in red?"

The faintest tightening of brows, something utterly dark creeping into those eyes. I swallowed, quickly changing tactics. "Apologies, I meant no offense." A hand crept up the back of my neck, fingertips grazing various seeds. "Honestly, I do not know where to begin."

"An apology would be nice." She picked up her current cup of tea, taking a generous sip. "If you came with anything else in mind, leave. Now. Don't waste my time."

Yoko chuckled at the callous tone, indifference speckled with annoyance, if not anger. "I truly am sorry for what happened. Please believe that I meant no harm–"

"So what, you were following me around that night just for fun?"

"No, that's not what I–"

"You made me look like a fool and, worse, you hurt one of my coworkers."

My companion appeared truly amused as I struggled not to wilt beneath her glare, the clipped, tight words. "I thought they meant to harm you."

"Even if they did, that's my problem, not yours." Another sip and she paused, raising a brow. "Don't tell me you're some kind of closet pervert?"

Outright laughter this time and I gaped at her, blood rushing to my face. "N-no, of course not–"

"Then tell me why you were stalking me in the middle of the night."

I hesitated before taking a sip of my own drink, wetting my lips and reaching into my pocket. Taking a breath, I retrieved the well-read note, memorized creases caressing my palm before surrendering to her hand. Unfurling the paper easily with a thumb and forefinger, she snapped it open with a flick of the wrist, lifting the pastry.

We watched as she read her own writing, face flat, not unlike the gleaming blade of a sword. Lips parting, she took a bite of danish, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. Only her eyes and jaw moved, each meandering leisurely toward their destinations. Again and again, she read the simple lines adorning the napkin, poor paper worn in places by anxious fingers, ink smeared upon the last line. No crumbs or hints of glaze speckled her mouth or tabletop, despite the harsh words, the sharp elbows still propped upon the table.

Finally, she swallowed the morsel, gaze rising as she returned the note. "The lines spoke to me." I allowed quietly, setting the worn napkin aside, folding both hands atop cheery wood. "That you would write in two languages, eliminating any chance of miscommunication, all for someone you did not know." She neither confirmed or denied the sentiment, simply watched with those dark eyes. "I wished to see the woman who would go to such lengths."

The words smacked of truth, enough so that most would avoid the holes, everything left unsaid. Not her, though; not for a moment. I watched her shift to sit the least bit taller, tucking steepled fingers beneath her chin, pressed lips brandished like a weapon. No, she did not believe me, testified by the hardness of her eyes, that protected throat, the sudden stillness gripping her–

The stillness of a predator.

"I only want what is due, Mr. Minamino. Do you know what your escapade cost?" When I did not respond to the question – preoccupied with the tickling at my nape, the danger in her voice, silky and cold as the frozen spans of Siberia – she continued. "My coworker had to have emergency surgery; you ruptured his ear drum." I stifled the urge to reach for my hair, to create distance as she leaned closer, never once raising her voice. "The difference between what the hospital charged and insurance refused to pay fell on me."

"Why?" I cleared my throat, ashamed at the stain in my voice, the squeak she was not meant to hear.

Somewhere deep inside I could not quite place, Yoko smirked, lips curling my insides.

"Insurance companies are strict with their policies, all the things we miss in that tiny, fine print."

She retreated to her seat and the expected sigh did not come, relief refused to replace adrenaline. I wanted to drink, wet my parched throat, yet dared not move hands which even now itched for the feel of thorns. Eyes were upon us – a gaze I could not see – but I refused to look away from her, those swirling dark pools which held everything and nothing. I did not fear her wrath; I'd experienced a woman's scorn firsthand with Keiko, Shizuru's frigidity branded upon my brain. No, I did not fear her, yet something about this woman held me in place, conscious of each breath, every subtle movement–

All with one look.

"We each have an insurance policy through work, though that only covers unavoidable accidents on-set: falls, car crashes, getting stabbed in a knife fight, you get the idea." She waved away these articles – the details of her work – as if they were nothing. Taking up her cup for another sip, I noted the thin scars dotting the backs of her hands, knobby knuckles, fingertips thick with callouses–

Surely, all of these could not come from acting?

"What happened with Yatsu doesn't qualify as a 'work accident'."

My brows rose before I could catch them. Again, the alleyway flashed; bright lights, camera lenses, the red of believable blood on her lip. "How so?"

"Because of you." Another sip, this time tentative; she was no doubt reaching the bottom of her cup. "If one of us – let's say I punched him out of reflex during a shoot, busted his ear. Everything would be fine, covered neatly under the work-related accident clause because I, a coworker, struck him on-set." A nibble of her pastry, the careful licking of lips. "Instead, someone not involved in the industry, a perfect stranger, appeared out of nowhere and did serious damage." She set the cup down with a decisive 'click', eyes roving back to me. "That falls outside the realm of our contract with this particular company – they refused to give him anything."

Working in a firm myself, I knew contracts, knew what she said was inside the realm of possibility.

Still, one thing did not add up. "Why you? Why were you held responsible for the expenses?"

Her gaze darkened, hands sheathed once more beneath her chin. "The director believed we knew each other, all because you came to 'save' me and I blew up at you."

Guilt tickled my gut and I gripped slack fingers, shoulders rolling back. "I will speak to your supervisor."

She laughed, a sharp, harsh sound. "That ship has sailed, Mr. Minamino; the surgery's done, paid in-full by Yatsu and yours truly."

Already my hand reached for my wallet, hips lifting for easy access. "How much?"

Odawara stilled, all mirth vanishing. "You think money is going to make this go away?"

Jaw set, I retrieved the slim leather casing. My pleasant mask still remained though it wore thin, I could tell as much from her calm. "How much were you charged, Ms. Odawara?"

Taking the cord of one earbud, she twisted the dark thing, chin propped in her hand. "500,000 yen."

This time, guarding my thoughts came easily, professional courtesy shining through as I glimpsed inside for an amount I knew lay elsewhere. Matters of money were easy enough to deal with – I'd learned from the best, after all. "I only have 10,000 on-hand, though you are more than welcome to it. If you will wait for me to run by the bank–"

A snort and she shook her head, still fingering the cord. "I don't want your money."

Even without Yoko's intuition, I knew she spoke the truth. Back straight, no nervous gestures whatsoever; steady, even breaths, onyx eyes never once breaking their hold. No deceit lay there, no hope for material gain.

What could she possibly want?

I asked as much and she laughed once more, pitches flowing like a forgotten mountain stream. "I don't want anything from you."

The acrid lie bit beneath my tongue, clung to my teeth though I forced myself to smile. "Surely, this incident has effected your finances, Ms. Odawara – few can surrender such a sum without warning."

"I'm not most people." She supplied, frowning at the empty cup, chest cushioned atop one arm. I did my best to hold her gaze, to not stare at the ample breasts fitted to her small frame.

Yoko, however, did not share my ideals.

"I don't want your money or your pity, Mr. Minamino."

I swallowed past his attentions, through thoughts of what lay beneath those clothes and the sound of her voice, cold and smooth as sapphires. "What do you want, then?"

She traced the saucer's rim with a finger, clear coating reflecting the porcelain's gleam. "I want you to remember." Brushing the floral pattern with her nail, she tipped her head just so, hair falling across one cheek. "I want you to remember the world doesn't revolve around you – that your choices effect everyone around you, even people you don't know."

Once more, my mind flew to the note she'd left, Yoko's observation that we'd been watched for an indecipherable amount of time. I'd kept to the same routine for months: traveling to work, then this cafe before returning home. How long had this woman watched me sit here, lost to my own thoughts and whatever book I had on-hand?

How did she know my short-comings without even knowing my name?

Clearing my throat, I leaned forward, hands clasped still around my wallet. "Allow me to make this up to you."

She waved away the demand, intent on the last bite of pastry. "I already told you–"

"Please." I held up a hand and she paused, morsel halfway to her mouth. "I simply wish to make things right. This has nothing to do with money or emotions. Besides," I sipped my now cold drink, forcing a smile I in no way felt. "Not settling this with you would mean throwing away everything mother taught me."

Her brows rose at this. "You have a mom?"

The question quirked my brow in return. "Doesn't everyone?"

She held my gaze a moment longer before expelling a small sigh, pastry disappearing between her lips. "Alright." Her mouth slipped into a frown, nose wrinkling just so. "What did you have in mind?"

'_She made a fool of you._'

"Perhaps, though I am willing to play the fool if such produces results."

Moving back to my apartment had been less of a hassle than expected. After announcing my intentions of moving back to Kuwabara, I'd scheduled an appointment with a cleaning service. The apartment had not been properly cleaned weeks before the incident and it took two days for the place to be habitable again, along with several treatments to the floors and other surfaces to remove the smell.

Understandably, some furniture had to be discarded, damaged beyond repair by either biological factors or by Yoko's actions, which saved my life. The cleaners were all too willing to allow me to handle the defunct items, accepting money exceeding the agreed upon amount for their trouble. Removing broken, wretched wood took little time, as did two trash bags filled with clothes. I disposed of them in two trips downstairs, thankful for the darkness of a new moon masking inhuman strength.

Slipping onto the deserted ground floor, I made my way to the rows of post office boxes, walls of steel lit only by the streetlight outside the building. One day management would fix the lighting here, though such made my task easier.

I retrieved my mail – a healthy stack over two inches thick – before retreating up the stairs and into my apartment, locking the door still smelling of fresh paint. Both shoes set orderly in the genkan, I picked the still-steaming cup of coffee from the kitchen counter and took a sip, moss-like carpet massaging my toes. "Did you sense anything from our interaction?"

'_She's hiding something._'

Smiling, I drank again, bittersweet liquid dancing upon my tongue. "Everyone has secrets, my friend."

I felt him frown, eyes narrowing to a glare. '_Don't patronize me._'

"What do you think, then? Is there cause for concern?"

He fell silent, as if gathering his thoughts. Then, '_She is . . . interesting._' I leaned against the half-wall separating the kitchenette from my living room, allowing myself to relish the subtle joys of home. '_That woman commanded the conversation from beginning to end, made you appear foolish, weak, without offering anything in return._'

"Correct. We're still unsure if she knows anything about you or, if she does, to what extent–"

My tongue stilled, eyes widening as I sorted through the mail. There were the expected bills and statements, as well as a few junk items. The majority of the envelopes, however, bore the same return address, characters scrawled in a familiar hand:

Yusuke.

Brow knitting, I set the coffee down, thumbing through the pile. Twenty-eight; twenty-eight letters, one for each day since I was forced to leave my apartment. Kuwabara had said he would handle Yusuke, that there was no need to worry about him prying during my recovery.

What on earth could he have said to prompt this?

Inside each was a recollection of the day's events, each from Yusuke's perspective. Understandably, this included grumbling about his wife's nagging, Atsuko's alcoholic tendencies, as well as random gossip overheard at his food cart. In almost each lay a construed rant about the merging of two worlds and demon politics as a whole, nearly barren of details though the sentiment shone through–

My friend felt the weight of this transition as much as I.

Also, nestled in each letter was a picture of sorts, witty caricatures of customers or people we knew, including images of Yusuke bending an infant Koenma over one knee for a spanking. Also, in each lay a penis of some sort, whether drawn or captured on film from his own member.

The juvenile act warmed my heart while bringing a sobering thought. Yusuke hadn't quite forgiven me for shutting him out. He knew something had happened and wouldn't let me forget, wouldn't stop until I answered for the crimes against our friendship.

I needed to settle things with him sooner rather than later.

'_That boy is an idiot._'

"True, though he means well." Returning each letter to its envelope, I set them on the counter, turning my thoughts inward. "How can we divine if Odawara knows about you?"

'_Give it time. Humans cannot hide such secrets for long._'

I remembered his observing her, the way she moved, spoke, ate, each detail locked away for later use. However, I couldn't forget his reaction to her wit, her subtle control, her body wrapped in all that black. Something kept me from mentioning these things, guilt at the situation I'd put her in and the possibility of being exposed holding my tongue. Surely, one more outing could not hurt.

What did it matter if Yoko was attracted to her?

A/N: Hello and welcome back! Sorry for the delay, everyone – Covid-19 has effectively shut down all reliable internet sources for the foreseeable future, so I don't know when I'll be able to update next. Fear not, though, I am writing and love to hear from you! Please don't refrain from dropping a PM or review with thoughts on the story!

As always, thank you for your reviews, follows and favorites. Each brings a smile to my face.

So, Kurama and Azumi's meeting did not go as planned, and he and Yoko are no closer to finding answers. With Yoko possibly having ulterior motives, what will happen now – how can Kurama possibly make this up to her? Also, how will he settle things with Yusuke?

Azumi's up next; see you next time!


	12. Automaton

_If everything seems under control,_

_you're not going fast enough._

– _Mario Andretti_

Automaton

_Please._

The purr of an engine, shuddering breath, an all-too familiar smell. Flashing trees, the grind of gravel, starlight budding passionately. Exhale; let go. Blue never lies–

Neither does a V-8.

One mile marker, then another, all leading up to the roads I loved. A final check, one last chance to back out. No blue lights or glaring icons, speedometer climbing, RPMs hovering at just the right spot:

Too late to back out now.

Pressing the accelerator, static rained from the radio, filling both ears with cotton as I neared the first curve. I loved the solidarity of mountain roads: narrow lanes, tight turns and seldom used at night, they were best suited for drifting, far enough away from the city that cops didn't patrol them often. Oddly enough, the perks of such a place were also its worst qualities. These roads were unforgiving, savage–

One mistake and you're dead.

Smirking, I downshifted, turning into the curve. Glaring at the cliff face, I dumped the clutch, toes and heel working on it and the break while moving toward the rocks, guard rail glinting. Pumping the accelerator, tail lights came around right on time, glowing cigarette butts lighting up the night. Easing off the gas, I spun the steering wheel once more, slipping into the straight-way as if nothing had happened.

The process repeated again and again, each drift hinting red hair, green eyes peering from each tree, pale skin painting the mountains I loved. No, he didn't get to have his way, to waffle between being a lech and a gentleman. He couldn't talk to me about mothers–

He didn't have the right.

_Please._

Growling, I matted the accelerator, taking the curves faster than I should, each drift tighter than the last. This was good practice: after months of not seeing a crash course, I'd been cast for a driving role in one of those stupid race movies, the ones where men always drive muscle cars and women wear next to nothing. As luck would have it, this flick needed a female stunt driver, something the industry lacked even in this day and age:

I could think of only a handful in all of Japan.

_Let me make this right_.

One last curve, another by-the-book inertia drift. The '87 obeyed without complaint, turning first this was then that before finally facing knowing stone, nose inches from the guard-rail as we rode around the bend. My green machine let me hug the curve longer than expected and I grinned, thrilled with blowing past a personal best. Everything was fine, my body remembered what to do. Why was I so–

_Please_.

Screeching brakes and I gripped the steering wheel, killing the engine and coasting onto the nearest shoulder. The GT ground to a halt and I sighed, forehead resting against the leather steering wheel cover. Crickets and cicadas chirped through raised windows, safe from the city, content to serenade the night.

He seemed better than before, Minamino with the flowing hair and strange speech patterns. Did he learn to talk from the books he read? Each word crisp, placid, polite to the point of arrogance–

Did he have any idea how ridiculous he sounded?

An owl joined the song and he appeared again, brown slacks belted to narrow hips, yellow shirt breathing life into his face. Slender hands; the hands of a musician, if not for the thin scars marking his knuckles, the calluses tainting each finger. Long legs with an abdomen to match, head rising a few inches above mine.

Funny, since I was taller than most women I knew.

Those eyes found me hunched in the driver's seat, dark emeralds set in honeyed molding. A slender face, delicate to the point of being feminine. With that hair and those cheekbones, how many times had he been mistaken for a woman?

The thought made me snicker.

There was nothing gentle about the way he carried himself, though. Shoulders erect, back ramrod straight, his every move oozed confidence, a quiet assurance; perfection. Rolling, soundless steps both inside the cafe and out, sure feet, flawless grace:

A dancer's grace.

I shook my head, banishing faded images. Sure, he had a nice body and steady footing but that didn't explain why I'd picked _there_ for our final meeting. How many years had passed since I'd seriously thought about dancing, watched someone with an eye trained for the art? A woman's smile; childish laughter and floor wax flooded my senses, threatening tears. I shuddered, curling into my coat.

The answer?

Too long.

The stereo glared midnight as I turned off the main road, engine humming in the still air. Beneath the street lamps, my apartment building waited faithfully, faded brick face glaring like a sullen mother.

As I crept toward the parking garage opposite the complex, the promised meeting with Minamino surfaced, along with a pang of guilt. Sunday was my only day off this week. Ayumu knew better than to ask me to work Sundays – I'd quit on two directors before him who tried to make me. He never asked why, simply accepted my one and only rule as an action double. Some actresses demanded X-amount of money and I asked for one solid day off a week–

Really, it wasn't that much of a sacrifice.

Sunday was always reserved for Mom, had been for about ten years now. However, when he insisted on making this up to me, nearly causing a scene at Black Lotus, I gave in and carved out some time. If I got to the Sanatorium as soon as it opened for visitors, I could stay with her for a while and then get back in time to meet him. True, I could have put him off until filming was done but that didn't sit right with me.

Besides, I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Hey."

The voice caught me off-guard and I stopped, car idling just under the garage's awning. A guy stood leaning against a concrete pillar, half-hidden in shadow. Ankles crossed, he appeared to not have a care in the world: rumpled white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, both hands stuffed into faded black jeans; stained sneakers that had definitely seen better days. Black hair which possibly started the day presentable had given up the ghost, choice snatches falling over his ears, bangs cresting brown eyes. Those eyes stared hard at the open window now, dusky amber striving to match the glow of the cigarette dangling from his lips.

Then, a hand emerged to grasp the burning stick, flicking ashes as smoke trickled from his nose. "So, you gonna give me the keys or what?"

I fought the urge to act irrationally, searching instead for a way to deescalate the situation. Running him over obviously wasn't an option. This was honestly a first: no one had ever tried to rob me, not even as a teen living on the streets. "Can I help you?"

"Oh, that's right." He cleared his throat, crushing the cigarette before thrusting it in the spare pocket. I saw the muscle outlined beneath that shirt, the scars left bare by rolled-up sleeves. What was in that other pocket? "Good evening, ma'am. How was your evening?"

The words fell flat, a poor recitation with the inflections of a robot. Did he really think I was going to buy this?

"Allow me the honor of parking your car." He extended his hand, posture lax, reassured. "I'll take your keys, if you don't mind."

He couldn't be serious. Yet when he didn't rise from his bow, eyes closed in faux respect, I sighed, leaning back against the seat. "Actually, I do mind."

"Thank you. Have a good–" Then the words registered and he stopped, head rising to stare. "Wait, what did you say?"

"I do mind. A lot, actually."

A beat of silence and he sighed, nose wrinkling before his face became pleasant once more. "Sorry ma'am, I'm just trying to–"

"You're _trying_ to steal my car, and doing a bad job of it. " His eyes widened, nostrils flaring as he opened his mouth. I cut him off before he could utter so much as a syllable. "Did you think I came in on the stupid train or something?"

I couldn't stop the last bit, not with him. Something told me deescalation wouldn't work on this guy.

Finally, he mustered the wherewithal to straighten, shutting his trap before taking a deep breath. "Look lady, I don't want any trouble."

"Good, that makes two of us." I tipped my head back further, never breaking eye contact, watching his shoulders in my peripheral, his hips. Tatsuo's words trickled in, relaxing my grip on the wheel: People always tell on themselves before they strike. if they're going to punch you, the shoulders move; if it's a kick, look out for the hips. If all else fails, remember the eyes are the window to the soul–

They can't hide anything from you there.

Another sigh and he rolled his shoulders back, making a show of endurance. "Alright, some guy you don't know wants to park your car and that freaks you out. I get it. So, let's start over." He relaxed, holding out his hand. "I'm the new valet, just started today. Name's Yusuke, Yusuke Urameshi. What's yours?"

I felt a brow rise but didn't let him break my focus. "Valet? We've never had a valet, management's too cheap for that."

"Uh hello, did you miss the part where I started _today_?" Suddenly he stopped himself, retreating a step, hand combing those troublesome bangs. "Look, can we just get this over with? I'm ready to go home."

"Finally, something we agree on." My Mustang struggled not to choke down from idling so long but he didn't seem put off when I revved the motor, hand moving to the stick shift. "I have better things to do than watch you playing adult."

Yusuke sputtered, red rushing to his face. "_Excuse_ me?"

"You even tried to look the part, that's cute." I couldn't help mocking the wannabe gang-banger, propping my elbow on the door and looking him up and down. ""Did your mommy dress you this morning?"

"No, my wife did!" He cursed at my smirk, kicking the ground. "Look, you're my last customer of the night and you're starting to tick me off. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, doesn't matter to me." Swiping at his nose with one hand, he extended the other to me palm-up, fingers wiggling. "You gonna give 'em to me or not?"

Rather than answer, I mashed the gas, jetting into the garage before he knew what hit him.

"Hey, wait!" Footfalls and more curses, his calling me everything in the book and then some. Approaching the first ramp, I gripped the steering wheel and gear shift, mind racing. If this nutcase wanted to follow me until I found a parking space, I had to be ready, have a game plan set. Killing him wasn't an option and I really didn't want to see someone else in the hospital after the Minamino incident. Just enough to scare him, make him leave me alone.

What he did determined how far this went.

Suddenly he appeared in front of the car, legs spread and arms outstretched, as though he thought he could stop it with his bare hands. I slammed on brakes but the Mustang slid forward anyway, right into his waiting arms, sending him careening onto the hood. For a moment, I feared the worst because he didn't move, laying there with his head nearly touching the windshield. Yet as we slid to a stop, he lifted his head, hands gripping just below the wipers.

"Are you always this stubborn?"

His voice didn't contain an ounce of pain, as if he hadn't just been hit by over two thousand pounds of metal. "Are you _insane_?" I demanded, sticking my head out the window as he raised himself on his elbows. "I could have killed you!"

"Wouldn't be the first–oh, hold on a minute." The man child looked over one shoulder, digging into his back pocket. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled myself back in and waited, not even daring to touch to touch the accelerator when the engine gurgled.

After a moment of searching, he made a satisfied sound, pulling both knees beneath him and sitting up. "You wanted proof, right? That I really work here?"

I nodded mutely and he held up the exploring hand, from which now dangled a lanyard. Accepting the window-offering, I glanced at the plastic square as he crossed his legs, knees pressed to the glass.

Sure enough, the name Yusuke Urameshi along with the complex's name and the job title 'valet' glared back, both seated atop a picture of him. He wore a goofy grin in the photo, just like a kid scoring his first job. Hair gelled back, shirt pressed and without wrinkles, he appeared almost professional – something about the look in his eye shattered that image though, or perhaps the T shirt he wore.

Still, even I could see a thief wouldn't go to this much trouble just to steal a car–

And I'd just rammed into complex employee.

"I am so sorry!" A twist of keys and the car died. Stepping onto dry pavement, reality set in and my hands went to work, pressing at his chest, his ribs. "Don't worry, I have insurance. I'll take you to the hospital–"

He snorted, batting me away. "Didn't seem worried about that a second ago."

This time I was the one fighting for calm, grip tightening on warm metal. "I already said I'm sorry. What more do you want?"

He pretended to think before resting his cheek in one hand, hand extending once more. "How about, I don't know, you let me do my job and go home? Got things to do."

Still I hesitated, staring at his abdomen. The white shirt now held a perfect imprint of my car's grill and a button was missing now, an unwilling casualty. From the flesh peeking through the void, I saw angry skin stamped with a mark – a mark matching my Pony emblem. I couldn't _feel_ any broken bones but that didn't mean they weren't there; the threat of internal bleeding was also present. "I'd feel a lot better if you got checked out–"

"And I'd feel a lot better if we could get this over with!"

We glared at each other for a moment before I gave in with a sigh, forfeiting the keys.

"Thank you." He hopped down without pretense, whistling and twirling my key ring. I remained silent as he got in yet when I slid into the passenger seat, he paused his tune, glancing my way with raised brows. "What are you doing?"

"It's my car." The seat belt clicked closed and I shut the door, settling into the seldom-used seat. "Can't have you passing out in here."

"Is that still bothering you?" He leaned back with a groan, fingers already working at the remaining buttons.

"Hey, try not to move so much–!"

My complaints fell on deaf ears and then he opened his shirt, baring his abdomen shamelessly. While a welt had indeed formed in the shape of the emblem, I didn't see any other injuries: no bruises, swelling, not even a hint of redness.

"Satisfied?" He released the shirt but made no effort to button it, staring back with a smirk. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried."

Rather than rise to the bait, I motioned to the dash, the keys in his hand. "Still my car. There's no rule saying clients can't ride with you, right?"

He paused, brow creased, considering. "Nah, don't think so."

"Then I'm riding along, deal with it."

A moment's hesitation and he laughed, warmth filling the cab as he turned over the engine. "Fine by me. Just know that if you try to get freaky, my wife will hunt you down – she's great like that."

I couldn't help rolling my eyes. "I'll do my best to resist the urge, Mr. Urameshi."

"Ugh!" He scrunched his face and shifted to first gear, creeping up the ramp. "Don't call me that!"

"Then what am I supposed to call you?" We barely knew each other, there was no way I was calling him by his first name.

"Urameshi's fine." He turned and we cruised onto the second level, already full. Our complex shared this garage with two more in the area. "What about you? You got a name?"

"Odawara." Somehow, in a world of pretentious, stale people, his rudeness actually came across as warm. Genuine. "Azumi Odawara."

Another ramp, another full floor. Not that he seemed to mind, amber eyes searching as he handled my car in a way few could – most people didn't know how to drive stick anymore. "Alright Odawara. Since we're dicking around looking for a parking spot, let me ask you something – what do _you_ do for a living?"

A/N: Hello and welcome back to _Hey_ _You_! Sorry it's been a while, began a new fic and it's held my brain hostage for a month. Divergence is my first crossover (FMAxYYH) so if you get a chance, please check it out!

So, we have a scheduled meeting, drifting in the mountains, and Yusuke finally makes an appearance! What, if anything, will come of this acquaintanceship, and what will happen at Azumi and Kurama's rendezvous? Find out in the next chapter, please leave your thoughts in a review!


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